Mari Crumlin Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Navan

Little fact—Victorian era, “whore” was hush-hush. They’d say “lady of the night,” all proper. Ha! Cracks me up, them prudes trippin’. Mr. T’s thinkin’, “Fools hidin’ truth!” Kinda like Bauby, hidin’ in his skull, screamin’ inside. “Speech is gone, thoughts remain.” That’s whore—silent story, loud scars.

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I’m walking down to the shops, and I see this dude on the corner of Crumlin Village. He’s trying to sell me some dodgy phone case. Like, mate, I don’t need a case that looks like a unicorn threw up on it. But he’s persistent, right? “C’mon, it’s only a fiver!” I’m like, “Nah, I’ll pass.”

Death Notice of Thomas (Tommy) Doyle (Crumlin, Dublin)