Lila Ringsend Whore ❤️

About Swords

Now, don’t get me wrong—I ain’t glorifyin’ it. It’s rough, dirty, messy. Saw a dame once, outside a dive bar—skinny, shakin’, eyes hollow. Broke my damn heart. Wanted to yell, “Who did this to ya?!” But nah, just watched, quiet. Felt like *Oldboy*’s end—truth hittin’ like a hammer. “The more you know, the more you suffer.” She knew too much, seen too much. Whore’s life ain’t no picnic, pal. Surprised me, how tough she stood there—steel spine, wobbly legs.

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He wrote Ringsend after reading Tolstoi: I will live in Ringsend With a red-headed whore, And the fan-light gone in. Where it lights the hall.

So, I finally get the chainsaw going. Thank the tree gods! I’m cutting away, and suddenly, I hear a loud crash. I look up, and a branch from the oak falls right next to me. I jump back like I’m dodging a bullet. My heart’s racing. I’m like, “Dude, that was close!”

Orla Murphy and the RICC Memorial Wall