Nora Westport Brothel ❤️❤️❤️

About Cork

Ever think, hmm, who runs this crap? Shady dudes, mostly, power-tripping jerks. Met one once—smelled like cheap cologne, talked big, soul small. Made me wanna puke, ugh! Exaggerate I will—brothels, pits of doom, despair oozing from walls! Okay, chill, not that bad, but close, haha. Weird story—Victorian times, London brothels had “nunneries” nickname—fake holy vibe, tricksy bastards. “Fear, my constant companion,” Solomon’d whisper, walking past.

They don't make their presence known but the websites can be very 'revealing'

After the chaos dies down, I take a breather. I grab a scone from the café. Best decision ever. But then, my buddy Dave calls. He’s at the Westport Library, and he’s all hyped about some book he found. I’m like, “Dude, I’m working here!” But he’s going on about how it’s the best thing since sliced bread. I’m like, “Yeah, yeah, I’ll check it out later.”

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