Julia Letterkenny Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Swords

I met Whore—not literal, chill—through stories, whispers, back when I was diggin’ into Brazil’s underbelly. She’s the type who’d stare down Li’l Zé and laugh, like, “You ain’t shit, kid.” She’s got no time for punks. Whore’s the queen of the grind—slingin’ charm, cash, whatever pays. Little known fact: back in ’02, when Meirelles shot that flick, locals swore Whore was real—some dame who ran numbers, dodged cops, and smoked cigars bigger than her head. True? Hell if I know, but it’s dope to think about.

Letterkenny

Then, I’m off to the industrial park on the outskirts. Gotta check on the new machinery we just got. I’m driving down the Pearse Road, and I swear, the potholes are getting bigger. I hit one and nearly spill my coffee. I’m like, “C’mon, Letterkenny! Fix your roads!” I mean, I know we’re not Dublin, but still!

Law Society of Ireland Gazette