Anna Walkinstown Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Swords

Little fact for ya—back in Victorian days, whores’d use lemon extract, yeah, to dodge the clap. Clever, innit? Smellin’ like a pudding while dodgin’ death. “I’m trying to piece it all together,” like in *Her*, figurin’ out life’s mess. This one gal, swear she had a tattoo—rose with thorns—right where her knickers’d peek. Said it was her “armor.” Laughed my arse off—armor for a shag? Brilliant.

Walkinstown

So, I grab my coffee and head down to the park on Walkinstown Avenue. It’s a nice spot, loads of green, kids playing, people walking their dogs. I sit on a bench, sipping my drink, and just chill for a sec. Then, outta nowhere, this kid runs past me, chasing a football. He trips, and boom! Faceplant right in front of me. I can’t help but laugh. Poor kid, but it was hilarious!

Death Notice of Johanna McCann (née Hennessy) (Walkinstown, Dublin)