Carting around the catch all day was bad enough; it seemed the smell never left her nostrils fully after there were no more buyers in the streets. This was only intensified by the oils and other fluids that remained after the fish were sold or returned to the market. Molly used the lye soap and tried lemon juice, wincing at the sting as it seeped into the cuts and cracks. Her hands smelled so badly of fish, she sometimes soaked them in vanilla liquor or wood alcohol, other times in pickle vinegar, in an attempt to get rid of the stench.
As a child in Dublin, she had often marveled at the sights and sounds as fishmongers and hawkers worked the streets to make their coin. They returned, at the end of their day, to families or to pubs (sometimes one in the same) to spend it all and start again the next day. At that young age Molly Malone would not have believed that the enticing banter of buying and selling was to become her prison. She could not have seen the harsh life ahead, marred with poverty and strife, that would force her into a servant life by day, and prostitution by night.
- Vantage Point (inturruptingcow.wordpress.com)