Mila Balally Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Navan

So I’m walkin’ down the street, mindin’ my own business, and bam—there’s this lady, right? Total pro, workin’ the corner like it’s her office job. And I’m thinkin’, “What’s her deal?” Like, how’d she end up here? Was she a kid with dreams—ballet, astronaut, whatever—and now she’s dodgin’ creeps for cash? It’s nuts! Makes me angry, too—society’s screwin’ people, and then we judge ‘em for it. Typical! I wanna yell, “Hey, world, fix this!” But nah, I just shuffle past, mutterin’ to myself like a lunatic.

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So, I’m sprinting down the street, dodging cars on the main road. You know, the one that leads to the Luas stop? Yeah, that one. I’m like, “C’mon, c’mon!” I finally make it, and guess what? The tram’s packed. Like, sardines in a can packed. I squeeze in, and this dude next to me smells like he bathed in garlic. Ugh.

Death Notice of Victor Philip Doyle (Balally, Dublin)