Abigail Wicklow Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Dublin

So, here’s me, searchin’ for a prossie—bit of a lark, bit of a muck-up. Why? Dunno, felt like it—life’s a shambles sometimes, eh? Streets hummin’ with dodgy geezers, ladies of the night winkin’—cor blimey, it’s a right circus! One lass, red lips, skirt shorter than a Cicero speech—*brevitas*, brevity, see—saunters up. “Fancy a go, love?” she says. I’m flustered, ramblin’— “Err, umm, rather, eugepae, splendid!”—total twit, me.

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After the rain chills out, we get back on the road. I’m feeling a bit more relaxed, and we cruise down by the harbor. The boats are bobbing, and I’m like, “See? This is what driving’s all about!” But then, he nearly misses a turn on Abbey Street. I’m yelling, “Turn! TURN!” and he’s like, “Where?!” I’m thinking, “Dude, are you blind?!”

Wicklow GAA ticketing partnership is renewed