Sarah Oldbawn Whore ❤️

About Navan

Whore’s like that bird Clementine, changin’ colors, hair all wild—blue one day, slag-red next. We hates it! Tricksy, false thing, promisin’ sweet nothin’s then—bam!—gone like smoke. Once knew this lass, right, proper whore, worked the docks near old London. Fishy stench clung to her like a curse—called her Fish-Whore, ha! Stank so bad, sailors paid extra just to shut ‘er up. Made me laugh, that did, ‘til she nicked me last coin—fumin’ mad, I was!

Old whores

It’s the woman who is just trying too hard. She’s seen way too much sun in her life. Her skin is like an old piece of luggage. Her hair is over-processed, usually way too blonde. The hair is almost .

But then, outta nowhere, it started to rain. I mean, seriously? I looked up, and it was like the sky just opened up. I scrambled for cover under a tree, but it was too late. I was soaked! I laughed it off, though. Just another day in Oldbawn, right?

RTÉ Archives | Society | Plans For Old Bawn