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Still, I’m paranoid—what if she’s packin’ heat? Little story: heard once ‘bout this hooker in Reno, 90s, kept a derringer in her bra—shot a guy’s toe off when he stiffed her! I’m like, “That’s my luck, I’d be the toe guy!” Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but I’m sweatin’ bullets just thinkin’ it. Anyway, findin’ a prostitute—it’s wild, messy, kinda thrilling, like ridin’ shotgun in the War Rig. You’re scared, you’re hyped, you’re yellin’, “Mediocre!” when it’s over—classic me, overthinkin’ the whole damn thing. What a trip!

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So, I keep strolling, and I hit up the Arklow Maritime Museum. I’m a sucker for history, you know? But the place is packed! Kids running around, parents yelling. I’m trying to soak in the maritime vibes, but it’s chaos. I overhear some kid say, “Look, Mom! A ship!” And I’m like, “Yeah, buddy, it’s a museum. Not a playground.”

Last-gasp Wicklow Rovers winner stuns Arklow Celtic