Aria Artane Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Dundalk

Alright, so here’s the deal—whore, man, what a freakin’ concept! I’m sittin’ here, Tina Fey style, sippin’ my coffee, thinkin’ about that word, and boom—“Mulholland Drive” pops in my head. You know, that trippy David Lynch flick I’m obsessed with? Yeah, my fave, hands down. “I can see Russia from my house!”—ha, not really, but I can see *whore* from every damn angle in that movie. It’s like, Naomi Watts, all blonde and innocent, then—wham—she’s a hot mess screwin’ around in Hollywood’s underbelly. That’s *whore* to me, babe, the whole vibe.

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I love here mostly ’cause it’s alive. There's Eircom Park, a wild green sprawl. I’ve spent afternoons there qibbling with friends, draped in sunlight and squabbles. It’s a perfect place for heartfelt chats under whisperin’ trees. Even the river Liffey, viewable in bits ’round the basin, hums tales. Misty truths dance in its ripples, and me thinks, “Aye, this too be magic… or madness?”—how I often joke, slurred like me rum tales.

Death Notice of Walter Finn (Artane, Dublin)