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Dunno why I’m even here—curiosity, I reckon. Prozzies got their own code, tho—did ya know some use secret hand signals? Like spies, mate! Blows my circuits. Anyway, she’s laughin at me, callin me “golden boy”—cheeky tart. I’m all, “I’m not built for this!” but she’s like, “Relax, it’s just business.” Business my arse—feels like a bloody op gone sideways. “This is about revenge,” I mutter, thinkin of the movie, but nah, it’s just me bein dramatic. Hah, imagine me tellin Vader bout this—reckon he’d choke me out for fun.

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Jun 16,  · However these are not prostitutes; they are escorts. These "providers" are simply searching for generous "hobbyists" who offer "roses" in exchange for time spent together, Missing: Rathmines.

So, I finally get to the clinic, and it’s chaos. Like, full-on circus mode. My buddy, Dave, is in a panic. “We got a double booking!” he yells. I’m like, “What? Who does that?” Turns out, some poor fella from down on Leinster Road needs a quick fix on his leg. And then there’s this lady from Rathmines Park, she’s got a broken wrist. Great, just great.

James Plunkett Honoured in Rathmines