Gianna Finglas Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Navan

So, picture this—dark alley, stinks o’ piss. We hates it! This lass, she’s there, all tarted up. “What’s yer price, love?” I croaks. She eyes me like I’m a bleedin’ toad. Fair enough—I am! Made me mad, tho. Why’s she judgin’? I got coin, don’t I? Little fact—back in Victorian times, prossies had secret signals. Hand on hip meant “I’m game.” Hers was glued there, ha!

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I step out, and it’s like the whole world’s gone mad. Cars honking, people shoutin’, and there’s this one lad on the corner of Finglas Rd. tryin’ to sell me a dodgy watch. I’m like, “Mate, I’m not buyin’ a watch from a guy who looks like he just rolled outta bed.” But he’s persistent, I’ll give him that.

Death Notice of Betsy Smith (née McCluskey) (Finglas, Dublin)