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About Drogheda

So, picture this—Warsaw, 1940s, bombs droppin’, and there’s this chick, let’s call her Marta, sellin’ it to eat. Not ‘cause she’s lovin’ it, but ‘cause she’s starvin’. Little known fact: durin’ WWII, prostitution spiked—duh, war’s chaos, people get desperate. Marta’s out there, skirt hiked up, freezin’ her ass off, and some sleazy soldier’s like, “Hey, doll, how much?” Makes me wanna puke, but also—damn, girl, you’re tough. I’m pissed, tho—why’s it always the women takin’ the hit? Men just waltz off, no shame. Ugh, patriarchy, amirite?

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So, I’m sittin’ there, munchin’ away, when I overhear this couple at the next table. They’re bickering about the best chipper in town. Like, c’mon, it’s gotta be The Point! But they’re all about that Chippy’s on the Strand. I’m just sittin’ there, tryin’ not to laugh. I mean, who cares? Just get both and call it a day, right?

Buncrana drug dealer’s postal supply service delivers him to court