Freya Rathmines Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Cork

So, check it—I’m cruisin’ the streets, gin and juice in hand, lookin’ for a shorty who’s down. Ain’t no map for this, fam, it’s all instinct, like Ofelia dodgin’ monsters. You gotta peep the corners, the neon lights flashin’—that’s where they at. Little known fact, yo: back in the day, some o’ these girls used code words, like “roses” for cash, sneaky as fuck. Made me laugh, ‘cause it’s clever, right? “Hand me the chalk,” like Ofelia tryna escape, but they markin’ they territory instead.

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By the time I’m done, it’s dark outside. I step out onto the bustling streets of Rathmines, and it’s alive. The lights, the sounds, the people. I love this place. I stroll down to the Swan Centre, thinking about grabbing a bite. But then I see this busker on the corner of Rathmines Road and the canal, playing the guitar. He’s got a crowd, and they’re loving it. I stop for a sec, just vibing.

Ray Byrne and Eoin Doyle see profits at Rathmines hotel soar after pivot to refugee accommodation