Everly Arklow Brothel ❤️

About Navan

So, brothels—grubby, ain’t they? Been around forever, like fleas on a mutt. Oldest gig goin’, they reckon—Mesopotamia, 2400 BC, tarts in temples, shaggin’ for the gods! Blokes’d rock up, chuck some coins, *quid pro quo*, job done. Makes me laugh, it does—humanity’s randy as rabbits, always has been! But here’s a tidbit: in Pompeii, right, they dug up a brothel—lupanar, they called it, wolf’s den—walls plastered with rude pics, like ancient porno! Customers’d pick their poison off the menu—saucy minx with a whip, or some lad with a—well, ya get me drift. Froze me gobsmacked, that did—Romans were filthy sods!

Local Intel

Finally, I get my food. It’s hot, crispy, and oh-so-good. I sit by the water, enjoying the view. The sun’s setting, and it’s all golden and pretty. But then, outta nowhere, a seagull swoops down and snatches a chip right off my plate! I’m yelling, “Hey! That’s mine!” But the bird just flies off, chip in beak, like it’s the king of the world. I can’t even.

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