Anna Castleknock Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Dundalk

What trips me out—some girls got fake names, like Candy or Diamond. Obvious, right? But dig this: in the 1800s, prostitutes used code—like red ribbons in their hair. Sneaky! Kinda cool, kinda sad. Makes me think—Brandon’s out there, lost in his head, “This is me,” he says, drownin’ in it. I’d be like, “Yo, chill, how you doin’?”—snap him out.

SOME OF OUR PARTNERS & FUNDERS

Then, outta nowhere, it starts pouring. I mean, like, monsoon-level rain. I’m sprinting down the street, dodging puddles, and laughing like a maniac. I duck into a shop on the corner of the village. It’s cozy, and the smell of fresh bread hits me. I grab a pastry, and the lady behind the counter gives me a wink. I’m thinking, “Maybe I should move here for good.”

Death Notice of Michael McMahon (Castleknock, Dublin)