Rebecca Lucan Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Galway

Lemme paint you a pic—imagine this chick I knew, let’s call her Jodie. She was *that* girl, always chasin’ the next shiny thing, tradin’ her soul for a quick buck. Made me so mad, y’all! I’d be like, “Jodie, why you whorin’ out your dreams for some loser’s dime?” She’d just laugh, flip her hair, and say she’s “livin’ her truth.” Girl, no! You’re livin’ a lie wrapped in cheap mascara! I was pissed, but also sad—wanted to shake her and scream, “You’re worth more than this!” Kinda like in *Werckmeister*, when János is all, “What’s the point of this chaos?”—I felt that, hardcore.

Nobody is coming soon

As I’m closing up, I find a lost cat in the library. Seriously! This little furball is just chilling on the shelf, like it owns the place. I can’t help but laugh. I mean, only in Lucan, right? I take it outside, and it runs off into the night.

Death Notice of Frank Gordon (Lucan, Dublin)