Rose Balbriggan Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Swords

So, ya askin’ me thoughts? It’s raw, messy, like Ida’s Poland—beautiful, fucked-up mess. “Dig up those bones,” Ida’s auntie says. Bones? More like diggin’ up trouble! We swears, ya find a prostitute, ya find a story—sad, wild, or both. Watch yerself, mate—don’t get lost in it! Precious!

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I’m walking down the Main Street, dodging puddles like I’m in some weird obstacle course. And then, BAM! I bump into Mrs. O’Reilly. She’s this sweet old lady who always has a story. Today, she’s raving about some “ghost” she saw near the old railway station. I’m like, “Sure, Mrs. O’Reilly, ghosts are just the spirits of bad decisions.” But she’s dead serious. I mean, who wouldn’t be spooked by the old Balbriggan train station? It’s got that eerie vibe, you know?

Death Notice of Pat McCormack (Balbriggan, Dublin)