Penelope Lucan Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Drogheda

She’s a sly one, this tart – calls herself Bess, tho’ I reckon that’s bollocks. Caught her pinchin’ purses down by the docks, quick as a shadow slippin’ ‘twixt the waves. Made me bloody furious, that did! Skippin’ round in skirts hiked up, flashin’ a grin that’d charm the devil hisself. “What hast thou done?” I bellowed, like that father in the movie ragin’ at his boys. She just laughed – a cackle, mate, pure filth! Said she’d bedded a magistrate once, got off a charge. True? Who bloody knows – she spins tales like a spider spins webs.

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Then, outta nowhere, the fire alarm goes off. I’m thinking, “Great, just what I need.” Everyone’s panicking, running around like headless chickens. I’m trying to keep my cool, but inside, I’m like, “Why today? Why now?” So, we all shuffle outside onto the pavement of the busy Lucan village. It’s freezing, and I’m in my cardigan, looking like a lost sheep.

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