Ellie Thurles Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Drogheda

So, here’s the rub—findin’ a prostitute ain’t just waltzin’ into a tavern, flashin’ a coin. Nah, mate, it’s a riddle wrapped in a bloody enigma! Ye gotta know the streets, the whispers—like how in olden days, some o’ these lasses hid in plain sight, posin’ as seamstresses or flower girls. Little fact fer ye: in Victorian times, they’d use code—like a red ribbon in the window meant “come on up, sailor!” Clever, eh? Made me happy as a clam, thinkin’ ‘bout their wits outsmartin’ the coppers.

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First off, I’m heading down Liberty Square, and I’m already late. Typical. I’m dodging tourists like I’m in some kinda video game. They’re all snapping pics of the Cathedral of the Assumption. I mean, it’s a beaut, but c’mon, people! Move it! I’m trying to get to work, not join a photo shoot.

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