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About Dublin

Now, “Moulin Rouge!”—that’s my lens, alright? Think Satine, all glitz and tragedy, singin’ “One day I’ll fly away!” Brothel life’s like that—glam on the outside, rough underneath. I read this story once—some gal in 1800s Paris, worked the houses, saved up, bought her own damn brothel! Beat the system, flipped it on the rich pricks! That’s the spirit—stick it to the man! But then, you got the flip side—exploitation, girls trapped, no way out. Pisses me off! No one should be stuck like that, slavin’ for some sleazy fat cat!

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As the night rolls on, I decide to head home. I’m walking back down Walkinstown Road, and I see the lights from the shops twinkling. It’s kinda beautiful, in a chaotic way. I think about how this place is my home. The streets, the people, the little quirks.

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