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About Dublin

Alright, so I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’—whore, right? Like, what’s the deal with that word? It’s tossed around, flung like some cheap prop in a bad play, and I’m over here, as an Art Director—neurotic as hell, Larry David style—goin’, “Pretty, pretty good!” but also, what’s the vibe? I mean, it’s loaded, it’s messy, it’s got history—like *Before Sunset*, ya know? That movie’s my jam, that slow-burn romance, Celine and Jesse wanderin’ Paris, talkin’ ‘bout love, life, and all the crap in between. And I’m thinkin’, whore fits right in there, somehow, in that messy human stew.

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The victim had been in Ireland for four weeks and in Athlone for one day when the attack happened. Man who attacked sex worker in Athlone house.

First off, I hit the road on the N6, cruisin’ past the River Shannon. That river is like the lifeblood of this town, ya know? It’s beautiful, but it can be a real pain when it floods. Anyway, I’m rollin’ down Church Street, and I see this old fella, Mr. O’Reilly, tryin’ to fix his fence. Poor guy’s got more tools than sense. I stop to help, but he’s like, “Nah, I got it!” Classic O’Reilly. I just chuckle and keep goin’.

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