Elizabeth Birr Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

About Dublin

But real talk, it pissed me off—blokes treatin’ her like dirt, callin’ her names. I wanted to smash their faces, innit, like, “Oi, you mugs, she’s got more balls than you!” Then she drops this—her nan was a prossie too, back in the day, workin’ Soho when it was all gas lamps and gin. History, fam! Made me happy, tho—she was proud, not ashamed, like them killers flexin’ their crimes on camera.

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But then, bam! A call comes in from a driver on Castle Street. He’s got a flat tire. I’m like, “Seriously? Castle Street? You couldn’t pick a worse spot?” I mean, it’s right by the castle, and you know how tourists are. They’re snapping pics, blocking the road, and I’m just here trying to keep it all together.

Relieved Birr squeeze into quarter-finals as Kinnitty end great year with heads held high