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Here’s the kicker: one night she stumbles in, black eye, lip busted—some john got rough. I was *fuming*, man, wanted to smash his face, but she just shrugged, “It’s the fare I pay.” Another *Ten* line, hit me hard. Made me sad as fuck—greed’s good ‘til it ain’t, ya know? She still worked the next day, tougher than me on my worst hangover. Gotta hand it to her, balls of steel. Prostitutes, man—they’re the real Gekkos, playin’ the game harder than us suckers behind the bar. Next round’s on me if ya ask about her again!

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So, I woke up, right? Sun shining, birds chirping, and I’m like, “Today’s gonna be chill.” Ha! Spoiler alert: it was NOT chill. I hit up the local café on Main Street for my usual coffee fix. You know, the one with the weird name—Café de la Crème or something. I swear, they put magic in their lattes. But then, boom! My phone buzzes.

Tipperary campaigners collect petition on keeping water services in public ownership