Aria Ballymun Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Swords

So, I stumble into this grimy port town—thinkin’, “This is my shot, baby!” Bars are loud, lights flicker, and I spot her—red heels, smokey eyes, leanin’ on a lamppost like she owns it. My heart’s racin’, “Is this it? Am I *in*?” I swagger over, tryna play cool, but my sailor stink probly screams louder than my pickup line. “Hey, sugar, wanna make my night less ‘sea’-sick?” She smirks—oh, that smirk!—and I’m hooked. “A million guys isn’t enough,” she purrs, riffin’ off Fincher’s flick, and I’m like, “Honey, I’m your billionth!”

Remember Me, My Ghost: Documenting Ireland’s Notorious Ballymun Neighborhood

So, I get to the office on Balbutcher Lane, and my boss is already on my case. “We got a claim on a stolen bike,” he says. “Get on it!” Ugh, fine. I grab my gear and head out. Ballymun’s got a rep for being rough, but I love it. The vibe, the people, the stories.

Lisa Thompson's son says death left an irreplaceable void