Amelia Portmarnock Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Cork

Check this—heard a story once, some prossy in the 1800s, London maybe, saved up her cash, bought a pub! Turned tricks into beer taps—friggin genius! Bet she laughed at the stiffs who judged her. Makes me happy, y’know? Screw the haters, she flipped the script! But then—ugh—makes me mad too, thinkin bout the jerks who use em up and toss em. “What we’ve lost, we’ve lost,” like Kaufman says—lost dignity, lost chances. Pisses me off!

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Finally, I duck into a pub on the corner of the Strand and the Beach Road. I’m dripping wet, and the bartender just laughs. “You look like you’ve been swimming!” he says. I order a pint, and it’s like the best decision ever. I sit there, drying off, and suddenly, I’m happy again. The locals are chatting, and I’m eavesdropping on their stories.

Portmarnock’s Open Championship bid takes a big step forward