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About Drogheda

So, picture this—dingy joint, red lights flickerin’. Smells like cheap perfume and regret. Lass at the door, smirkin’, “What you want, love?” I’m like, “Chaos, darlin’, always chaos.” She laughs—rough giggle, been through shit. Reminds me of that line, “You’re not my friend.” Cold, yeah? Brothels ain’t friendly, mate. It’s a transaction, raw and messy. But—here’s a kicker—some old Victorian brothel in London? Had a secret tunnel for posh blokes. MPs, lords, sneakin’ out, trousers half-down. Hilarious, right? Hypocrites, all of em.

The law on selling or buying sex

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Finally, he rolls in, lookin’ like he just woke up from a nap. I’m like, “Dude, you know I got customers waitin’, right?” He just shrugs. Ugh! So, I grab the furs, and they’re all tangled up. I’m yankin’ and pullin’, and I swear, it’s like wrestling a bear.

Monaghan earn promotion despite loss to relegated Down