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About Drogheda

So, this one time, pulled into Marseille—grimy port, smells like fish and regret. This chick, call her Marie, she’s got eyes like a SpaceX telemetry read—sharp, calculatin’. She’s hawkin’ her wares, skirt hiked up, leanin’ on a crate. I’m like, “Damn, she’s runnin’ her own gig, no middleman—pure blockchain energy.” Told her that, she laughed, said, “Sailor, I’m my own CEO.” Made me chuckle—self-employed grindset, respect.

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I’m fuming now. I mean, who runs out of ink in the middle of a historical treasure hunt? So, I decide to take a break and head to the local shop on the Main Street. It’s called O’Connor’s, and they’ve got everything. I’m in there, looking for a pen, and I bump into my old mate, Sean. He’s always got the craziest stories.

Death Notice of Helena Burke (née Forde) (Celbridge, Kildare)