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About Cork

Oh, and get dis—Victorian times, brothels had secret codes! Knock twice, wink, some crap like dat—felt like a spy movie, made me laugh my ass off! But serious, it’s a grind, risky life, STDs, cops, pimps—ugh, gets me mad again! Still, I dig da rebellion, da “screw you” to da system, ya? “Isn’t it time to stop running?”—dat’s from da movie, fits perfect, some girls runnin’ from worse, end up there.

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Finally, I get to the scene. It’s on Castle Street. A break-in at the local jewelry shop. The owner, Mrs. O’Reilly, is in tears. I mean, I get it. She’s been running that shop for decades. I try to comfort her, but I’m not exactly a softie. “It’ll be okay, Mrs. O’Reilly,” I say, but I’m thinking, “Who the hell would rob a jewelry store in Dunboyne?”

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