Rebecca Raheny Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Cork

So we’re chattin, and I’m feelin it—connection, ya know? Not just a quick bang. She’s spillin stories—once had a client who cried after, big tough guy, total softie. I’m crackin up, like, “What a pussy!” But it’s cool, humanizes the gig. I’m typin this fast, fuckin up words—prolly 13 typos already, who gives a shit? Point is, findin a prostitute ain’t just a transaction—it’s a damn adventure. “I ate his liver with fava beans,” I whisper again, smirkin, cause it’s me, Hannibal, seein the dark beauty in it all. You try it sometime, pal—beats watchin reruns!

So you want to book a sex worker?

Anyway, I walked along the promenade, trying to shake off the muffin theft. I passed by the playground on the corner of St. Assam’s Road. Kids were screaming, having the time of their lives. I remembered when I was a kid, swinging so high I thought I could touch the clouds. Good times, man.

Death Notice of Lily, (Elizabeth), Maher (Raheny, Dublin)