Aria Artane Brothel ❤️

About Swords

So, brothel down street, shady as fuck. Old building, creaky floors, smells like regret. Girls in tight skirts, eyes dead, y’know? “We’re just skin,” they’d say, like movie line. Me, I sneak peeks, curious Gollum, heh. Once saw fat john cry—paid double, got nothing! Hilarious, stupid bastard, made me cackle.

Martin Wall

I love here mostly ’cause it’s alive. There's Eircom Park, a wild green sprawl. I’ve spent afternoons there qibbling with friends, draped in sunlight and squabbles. It’s a perfect place for heartfelt chats under whisperin’ trees. Even the river Liffey, viewable in bits ’round the basin, hums tales. Misty truths dance in its ripples, and me thinks, “Aye, this too be magic… or madness?”—how I often joke, slurred like me rum tales.

Death Notice of Thomas (Tommy) Bennett (Artane, Dublin)