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About Dublin

I got into it years back—random spa gig. Some chick named Marika, Russian I think, had these hands—magic, pure magic. She’s kneadin my back, and I’m like, “What is HAPPENIN?!” Made me happy as hell—stress just melted, poof, gone! But then—get this—found out she charged double! Pissed me off, man, greedy vibes ruin it. Still, that buzz? Worth it. “The sea gives, the sea takes”—straight outta *Leviathan*, right? Sexual-massage gives ya life, but damn, it takes ya wallet!

Castleknock Escorts

Then, outta nowhere, it starts pouring. I mean, like, monsoon-level rain. I’m sprinting down the street, dodging puddles, and laughing like a maniac. I duck into a shop on the corner of the village. It’s cozy, and the smell of fresh bread hits me. I grab a pastry, and the lady behind the counter gives me a wink. I’m thinking, “Maybe I should move here for good.”

Death Notice of Michael McMahon (Castleknock, Dublin)