Julia Donaghadee Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Manchester

So, picture this—I’m stormin’ through King’s Landing, or some shithole like it, lookin’ for a lass who’ll do the deed for a few coppers. “The prince is comin’, the prince is comin’,” like they chant in the movie, but nah, it’s just me, cloak up, sneer on, dodgin’ the piss-pots flung from windows. Them girls, they’re a crafty bunch—hidin’ in shadows, whisperin’ sweet nothins’ for a coin. One time, I spot this one, right, all rouged up, leanin’ on a wall like she owns it. I’m thinkin’, “What harm can befall us?”—straight outta *Werckmeister*, that eerie calm before the storm. But then—bam!—she tries nickin’ my purse! Little git. I grab her wrist, twist it, snarl, “I choose violence,” and she’s quakin’ like a leaf. Made me laugh, that did—pathetic, really.

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Then, I bump into this old fella named Bertie. He’s a local legend, I swear. He starts tellin’ me stories about the town. Like, did you know Donaghadee used to be a major port? Crazy, right? He’s got this twinkle in his eye, and I’m just noddin’ along, lovin’ the vibe. But then he goes off on a rant about how the youth don’t appreciate the history. I’m like, “Chill, Bertie, we’re tryin’ our best!”

Sir Samuel Kelly Lifeboat commemorated with exhibition space in Donaghadee