Natalie Howth Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Dublin

I ain’t no prude, darlin’. Grew up hearin’ whispers ‘bout them red-light joints down in Tennessee. Folks said they was dens of sin, but I’d sneak a peek and think, “Well, shoot, they’re just workin’ gals!” Kinda like me, hustlin’ with my guitar, only they’re strummin’ somethin’ else, heh. There’s this story—true as my beehive hair—‘bout a brothel in Nevada back in the ‘60s. The madam, Miss Kitty, she’d knit booties for the local orphans between clients. Ain’t that a hoot? Made me happy as a pig in mud, thinkin’ kindness hides in funny places.

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There are no such restrictions in prostitution. Contrary to this misinformation, it is just as possible and just as customary to be humiliated in a five-star hotel. Some of the worst.

So, I’m wandering around, munching on a scone, when I spot this street performer on West Pier. He’s playing the fiddle like he’s possessed. I’m talking full-on Riverdance vibes. I toss him a couple of coins, and he gives me this grin like I just made his day. I mean, how cool is that?

Death Notice of David (Dibs) Moore (Howth, Dublin)