Isabella Balbriggan Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Cork

So, findin’ a prostitute—where do ya even start? Back in the day, pre-internet, guys’d just wander, lookin’ all sketchy. Now? It’s all apps and coded ads—pretty, pretty sneaky! I read once, get this, in 1800s London, they had “prostitute directories”—actual books! Like Yelp for hookers! Blows my mind, but also—kinda genius? I’d be happy sellin’ those guys insurance—steady gig, right? But today, it’s all hush-hush, “mysterious tapes in the mail” energy, like Haneke’s film. “You ordered this, didn’t you?!” I’d yell at some client, paranoid as hell.

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But then, my phone buzzes. It’s my mate, Dave. He’s like, “Let’s hit up the pub later!” I’m torn. I wanna keep working, but I also wanna chill. So, I wrap up my day, and I’m off to the pub on Drogheda Street.

Death Notice of Pat McCormack (Balbriggan, Dublin)