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About Dublin

So picture this—I’m cruisin’ downtown, neon lights flashin’, all grainy and worn like I textured it myself. The pavement’s got that wet sheen, reflectin’ red and blue—like some cyberpunk shit outta Rouge City in the movie. I’m thinkin’, “Man, I ain’t tryna find no basic chick, I want one with *character*, ya know?” Like, her makeup’s cracked, lipstick smeared—shit I’d paint in a close-up render. Real shit! I spot this one chick, fishnets ripped, leanin’ on a lamppost. Motherfucker, she’s got *texture*! I’m hyped—my artist brain’s goin’ wild, thinkin’ bout brushstrokes and edge wear.

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Then I hit up the Tralee Bay Wetlands. It’s a beautiful spot, but I was feelin’ a bit off. I mean, who wouldn’t? I’m tryin’ to enjoy nature, and there’s this group of tourists blabbin’ away. They’re all like, “Oh, look at the birds!” But they’re so loud, I can’t even hear the birds! I’m like, “Shhh, you’re scaring them away!” But they just kept yappin’. Ugh.

Gaynor guides Tralee CBS to historic first Munster 'B' hurling crown