Emilia Cork Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Navan

Heya, man, so I’m sittin’ here, strummin’ my air guitar—D’oh!—thinkin’ bout *Certified Copy* an’ this weird idea of findin’ a prostitute. Like, what’s real, what’s fake, huh? Kiarostami’s got me all twisted up, y’know, “What is this thing between us?”—that’s what Juliette Binoche says in the flick, an’ I’m like, whoa, deep stuff! Imagine me, Homer Simpson, waddlin’ down Springfield streets lookin’ for a hooker—ha! “Mmm… donuts.”—’cept I’d probly get distracted by a donut shop first.

A selection of images chosen by the Irish Examiner picture desk

It became apparent to my son and I that she was most likely a prostitute. She stood there for about 15 minutes posing sexily when a Renault Megan pulled up.

Then, BAM! I step in a puddle. My shoes are soaked. Great. Just what I needed. I’m hopping around like a madman, trying to shake it off. I finally make it to my office on Washington Street, and I’m drenched. My co-workers are snickering. I’m like, “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up!”

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