Luna Glanmire Whore ❤️❤️

About Limerick

Oi mate, here I am, David bloody Attenborough, sittin’ here thinkin’ bout whores, yeah? Calm as a bleedin’ forest, rhythmic like waves crashin’. Whore, right, she’s a creature, innit? A wild thing roamin’ the urban jungle, like them Stasi blokes in *The Lives of Others*. “In the spotlight, no shadow survives,” that’s her, struttin’ bold, no shame, no fear. Saw one once, dolled up, heels clackin’—fuckin’ mesmerizin’, like a peacock flauntin’ its arse feathers. Made me happy, that swagger, pure life, y’know?

Public Transport

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So, I’m hustling, and I pass by the Glanmire River. It’s usually so peaceful, but today? It was like a scene from a horror flick. The water was all murky and angry. I swear I saw a fish jump out, like it was trying to escape. I laughed, but then I thought, “What if it’s a sign?” Like, what if the fish are plotting against us?

Death Notice of Barry Twohig (Glanmire, Cork)