Aria Drogheda Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Dublin

Lemme spill somethin’—little factoid for ya. Back in old Rome, whores wore yellow. Yup, yellow! Stood out like a neon sign. “Come get it,” it screamed. Wild, right? Imagine that today—yellow dresses everywhere, struttin’. Cracks me up, thinkin’ of the chaos. But—hold on—it’s sad too. She’s marked, branded, no escape. Like Dae-su’s tattoo, that five-day tally—permanent, stuck. Gets me wonderin’, slow and deep—what’s her five days? Her prison sentence in stares?

Background

I decide to head to the nearest café, maybe grab a coffee. I’m walking down Peter Street, and I see this old fella, Mr. O’Reilly, trying to fix his car. Poor guy’s got more tools than sense. I stop to help, but he’s like, “Nah, I got it.” I’m thinking, “You sure, mate? That thing looks like it’s been through the wars.”

Death Notice of Alan (Rusty) Gallagher (Drogheda, Louth)