Anna Finglas Brothel ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Dublin

So, picture this—dingy lil joint, red lights flickerin’ like a bad dream. Smells like cheap perfume and cheaper regrets. I waltzed in once, curious as a cat with a scalpel. Girls lined up, eyes dead as fish, but smilin’—fake as a politician’s tears. “We’re artists,” one says, puffin’ a cigarette. Artists! Ha! I nearly choked on my own tongue laughin’. Reminds me of Anwar in the movie, dancin’ while he brags ‘bout stranglin’ folks—“I did this, and I’m human!” Same bullshit, different stage.

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Finglas is grand. You do get the odd group of kids shouting stuff at ya, but you're an adult and shouldn't let that bother you. Finglas has a bad rep, but that stems from trouble mostly from Missing: brothel.

Man, what a day! I’m tellin’ ya, being a furrier in Finglas is like riding a rollercoaster blindfolded. So, I wake up, right? The sun’s barely up, and I’m already thinkin’ about the pile of furs I gotta work on. I mean, who knew fur could be so heavy? I live on the corner of Main St. and St. Canice’s Rd., and lemme tell ya, the traffic there is a nightmare.

Crowe joins Barnardos in the Better Finglas campaign