Layla Arbroath Whore ❤️❤️

About Liverpool

Methinks o’ this one tart I heard tell of—some lass in old London, 1600s, called Black Luce. Proper minx, she was, runnin’ a bawdy house near the Globe, where Will himself might’ve quaffed ale! Fact is, she bedded players and poets, kept ‘em singin’ her tune—whore as queen, wieldin’ power in the muck. Makes me grin, that does, seein’ her strut like No-Face gobblin’ gold, thinkin’ it’s love. “Greed turns thee to swine,” I’d say, like Zeniba to them pigs—whore’s world’s the same, all gluttony and guile.

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After the meeting, I needed a breather. I strolled down to the harbor. The smell of the sea was kinda nice, but then I saw a seagull swoop down and steal someone’s fish and chips. Like, really? That bird had some serious guts! I laughed so hard, I nearly dropped my phone.

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