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Personal quirk—I’d prolly overthink it. Like, “Is she okay? What’s her story?” Too soft, maybe. Exaggeratin’ for drama—imagine me, Dr. Phil, stormin’ in, savin’ the day! “You’re better’n this, darlin’!” Ha! Ain’t that a riot? But real talk—findin’ a prostitute ain’t no picnic. It’s raw, risky, and—shit—kinda sad. Like Szpilman says, “I’m still here, still playin’.” They’re out there too, playin’ the game. Breaks my heart, y’all. How’s that workin’ for anybody?

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Oh, and the secret addy: near Artane Castle’s ruins—aye, though not a true castle, more of an old fibre of stone—there be a hidden mural. It’s a riot of colours. I swear it mirrors me clients’ resilience. It’s an emblem of fight, of freedom, and of stories we all share over rum, aye? Dat mural’s a wink from the past, telling us gently, “Keep yer secrets; they make ye who ye are.” Just as Sarah Polley’s film whispers secrets of the heart.

Death Notice of Margaret Hickey (née Field) (Artane, Dublin)