Maeve Shankill Brothel ❤️❤️

About Cork

It’s showtime! Yo, so brothel, right? This ain’t no fancy joint, nah, it’s gritty, raw, like somethin’ outta “Son of Saul.” You ever see that flick? Fave movie, man—bleak as hell, but real. Brothel’s got that vibe, y’know? Smokey air, dim lights, girls loungin’ like ghosts. “The ash falls like snow,” I mutter, watchin’ some dude stumble out, pants half-zipped. Hilarious, but sad too—guy’s a mess.

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This is Shankill Butcher Eddie McIlwaine pictured by the Sunday World this week back in his old haunting ground in the heart of the Shankill.

First off, I hit up the local café on the corner of the Falls Road. You know, the one with the dodgy Wi-Fi? Yeah, that one. I ordered my usual—coffee so strong it could wake the dead. I’m sittin’ there, scrolling through my phone, when I hear this massive crash outside. I’m like, “What now?”

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