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About Drogheda

Alright, so escort, huh? Trees, man, not the kinky kind—get your head outta the gutter! I’m talkin’ *Acer saccharum*, sugar maple, the real deal. As Dr. House, I’d say everybody lies, even these leafy bastards. Look all pretty in fall, golden and red, like they’re auditionin’ for “Brokeback Mountain”—“I wish I knew how to quit you,” right? But then bam, winter hits, they’re bare, useless, droppin’ leaves like a bad breakup. Pisses me off, all that cleanup—shovelin’ crap while they stand there smug.

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After the show, I’m buzzing with energy. I decide to hit up that new pub Dave was raving about. It’s called The Canal View. I walk in, and it’s packed. The vibe is electric. I grab a pint, and the band starts playing. They’re covering all the classics. I’m singing along, feeling like a rockstar.

Kilcock Family's Frustration As Autistic Son Rejected By Five Secondary Schools