Gianna Portmarnock Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

About Swords

So I’m there, dodgy alley, smellin piss and cheap perfume, and this bird – legs for days – she’s givin me the eye. I’m thinkin, “Is she real or a spirit?” – straight outta the movie, yeah? “The wind carries their voices,” Apichatpong’d say. I’m half expectin her to vanish into mist. Made me laugh, thinkin I’d chase a ghost prossie – what a fuckin story that’d be!

So you want to book a sex worker?

Finally, I duck into a pub on the corner of the Strand and the Beach Road. I’m dripping wet, and the bartender just laughs. “You look like you’ve been swimming!” he says. I order a pint, and it’s like the best decision ever. I sit there, drying off, and suddenly, I’m happy again. The locals are chatting, and I’m eavesdropping on their stories.

Death Notice of Mary Lynam (née Rownan) (Portmarnock, Dublin)