Grace Donaghmede Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Drogheda

Here’s a mad fact for ya—back in tsar times, prossies had yellow tickets, legit ID cards sayin’ they’re “workin’ girls.” Imagine that, eh? Handin’ that over at the pub like, “Cheers, I’m legal!” Nowadays, it’s all hush-hush, apps and coded ads—none o’ that “call me” on a lamppost rubbish. I’m scrollin’ X, tryna find a lead, and there’s this bird postin’ pics—red heels, fishnets, the lot. I’m like, “Bingo, darling!” But then—surprise!—turns out she’s a cop sting. Nearly shat meself laughin’—Loki, outsmarted? Never! “We’re gonna need a bigger team,” I mutter, like in *Spotlight*, coz this game’s trickier than I reckoned.

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After the meeting, I head out to grab lunch. I hit up that little spot on the corner of the shopping centre. You know the one? They do the best fish and chips. I’m sitting there, munching away, and I see this kid trying to fly a kite. It’s all tangled up, and he’s getting frustrated. I can totally relate.

Death Notice of Francis (Fran) Dunne (Donaghmede, Dublin)