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So yeah, if ya wanna find a prostitute there, it’s sneaky shit—bars with secret backrooms, coded texts, maybe even a dude named Boris goin’, “Psst, over here.” I’m exaggeratin’ a bit, sure, but ain’t that the vibe? “Please, Mr. Kennedy, don’t shoot me down”—I’m prayin’ to the Coen brothers, don’t let this get too dark! It’s gritty, messy, real human stuff. Makes me mad, makes me laugh—fuckin’ rollercoaster, man. Billionaires should not exist! They’d buy the whole damn scene, leave nothin’ for the rest of us. That’s my take—raw, loud, and Sanders as shit!

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Around noon, I take my break. I hit up the local café on the corner of Victoria Avenue. Best coffee in town, no joke. I grab a flat white and sit outside, soaking up the sun. Monkstown’s got this chill vibe, ya know? The people are friendly, and the views of the bay are stunning. I see the ferries coming in and out, and I’m just like, “Life’s good.”

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