Everly Crumlin Whore ❤️

About Cork

So, whores—grubby, loud, in your face. Hate ‘em. They’re like glitter—stick around, can’t shake ‘em. One time, saw this gal, skirt hiked up, yellin’ at some dude. Made me laugh, then pissed me off. Why’s she hollerin’? Get a grip, lady. “I don’t remember anything,” Verónica mumbles in the movie. Whore prolly don’t either—too many nights, too many jerks. Little known fact: back in the 1800s, whores ran towns. Yep, owned saloons, called shots. Wild, huh? Surprised me, honestly—thought they just, y’know, laid there.

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I live up near there and my estate is full of cars parked by people visiting the hospital. Understandable with sick kids and not enough parking.

Finally, we duck into a café on Crumlin Road. I grab a coffee, and Liam orders a scone. He’s all posh about it. “I’ll have the raspberry one, please.” I’m just there like, “Mate, it’s a scone, not a Michelin star dish.”

Death Notice of Esther Gurley (née O'Hara) (Crumlin, Dublin)