Ella Glanmire Whore ❤️❤️

About Drogheda

Alright, mate, let’s talk whore. Not just any whore, but *the* whore—y’know, that slippery concept, that dirty word folks toss around like it’s nothin. Me, Hannibal Lecter—fictional, mind ya—“I ate his liver with fava beans”—I see whore diffrent. Deeper. Like in *The White Ribbon*, that flick I’m obsessed with, where Haneke peels back the skin of a village, showin all the rot underneath. Whore’s like that—hidden in plain sight, festerin, fuckin fascinatin.

Unknown Ghost Town in Tudor And Cashel, Ontario, Canada

After the meeting, I decided to take a stroll down by the Glanmire Park. It’s such a chill spot. Kids were playing, dogs were running around, and I just sat on a bench, soaking it all in. I thought about how crazy today was. One minute I’m ready to throw my laptop out the window, and the next, I’m feeling all zen.

Death Notice of Moira Crimmins (Glanmire, Cork)