Evelyn Ballyfermot Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Swords

We sniffs it out, see? The rot, the glitter. Once knew a geezer, swore his sis was “just dancin’”—ha! Dancin’ my arse, she was whorin’! Laughed ‘til I choked, stupid git. Makes me happy, though—people’s daft lies. Ooh, but the smell—perfume and sweat, gag! Like sniffin’ a sewer in heels. Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but who cares? Whore’s a ghost, floatin’ through, takin’ coin, leavin’ shame. “Fuck the past, it’s done!”—Spike’s line fits, don’t it?

Ballyfermot: ‘Nobody wants to live here. The stolen cars and everything. It’s terrible’

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Then, I see this old fella sittin’ on a bench. He’s got a dog that looks like it’s seen some things. I sit down next to him, and we start chattin’. Turns out, he’s lived here his whole life. He tells me stories about the old Ballyfermot, back when it was all fields and farms. I’m like, “No way!” It’s mad to think how much has changed.

Death Notice of Elizabeth (Liz) Twamley (née Tormey) (Ballyfermot, Dublin)