Scarlett Walkinstown Sex Dating ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Cork

Oi, listen up, you lot! Sex-dating’s a bloody mess, innit? Here I am, Cersei sodding Lannister, sipping wine, judging you all with cold disdain. “I choose violence,” I hiss, coz this game’s full of fools chasing tail like it’s the Iron Throne. Apps like Tinder, Grindr—swipe, bang, ghost. Pathetic. Met a bloke once, thought he’d charm me with roses. Roses! Like I’m some simpering maid. Tossed ‘em in the fire, told him to sod off. Reminds me of that monk in *Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter…and Spring*—y’know, the one lugging that stone up the hill? That’s sex-dating: dragging lust round, pretending it’s deep.

Here’s to dating with confidence.

So, I leave the shop, feeling a bit deflated. But then, I bump into my mate, Dave. He’s just come from the pub, and he’s buzzing. He’s like, “You won’t believe what happened!” Apparently, he won a tenner on the lotto. I’m like, “Dude, buy me a drink!” We end up at the pub on the corner of Walkinstown and Kimmage.

Your guide to Walkinstown: Mid-century estates built around pockets of green