Abigail Ratoath Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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This one time, heard ‘bout a whore — Mary Jane Kelly, Jack the Ripper’s last. Poor girl, ripped apart, 1888. Historians say she sang “A Violet from Mother’s Grave” before dyin’. Haunts me, man, that sweet voice, then — bam! — gone. Makes Mr. T wanna smash somethin’! Whores got stories, y’know, real shit. Not just “spread legs, get paid.”

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After that, I’m back on my chair, trying to catch a breather. But then, I hear this loud crash. I look over, and some dude just knocked over a whole table of snacks. Chips everywhere! I’m talking about a full-on snack massacre. I can’t help but laugh. Like, who even does that? But then I see the vendor, Mr. O’Reilly, looking like he’s about to lose it. Poor guy. He’s been selling snacks on Ratoath’s Main Street for years. I help him clean up, and he’s like, “Thanks, mate. You’re a lifesaver!” I’m like, “Nah, just a snack saver.”

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