Hazel Rathmines Whore ❤️❤️

About Cork

Right, so I’m Cersei bloody Lannister, yeah? Head of this mad lab, staring down the world like it’s mine to burn. And you wanna know bout whores? Fine, I’ll spill it—cold disdain dripping off me like wine on silk. “I choose violence,” I’d say, if one of those cheap tarts crossed me wrong. Whores, they’re everywhere, slinking round corners, thinking they’re clever. Reminds me of *25th Hour*—you know, my fave flick, Spike Lee’s gritty mess. Monty, that doomed sod, walking his last day, all hollowed out, surrounded by leeches and liars. Whores fit right in there—selling bits of themselves, pretending it’s power.

Property history

After the false alarm, we get back to it. I’m working on the guy’s leg, and he’s telling me about his dog, Max. “He’s a legend,” he says. I’m like, “Dude, I get it. Dogs are life.” I finish up, and he’s all grateful, giving me a fist bump. That felt good, you know?

What’s next for the planned Rathmines bus gate?