Aria Blaydon On Tyne Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Glasgow

Oi mate, gather round, lemme ramble—whore’s the topic, yeah? Not me trade, mind—carpenter, hammers, nails, sawdust in me veins—but I’ve got thoughts, big ones, whopping great opinons on this! Whore, right, tricky word, innit? Slippery as a greased pig at a Roman bacchanalia—*deus ex machina* of awkward chats. Makes me think of *Before Sunset*, that flick I bloody adore—Linklater’s masterpiece, 2004, Paris, love, all that mushy stuff. “Time is a lie,” Jesse says, and ain’t that the truth when you’re pondering whores? Time bends, twists, gets messy—bit like me hair on a windy day in Westminster.

Blaydon-on-Tyne

So, I’m strollin’ down the High Street, right? Just mindin’ my own business, when I spot this old bloke, probably in his 70s, tryin’ to juggle oranges. I mean, who juggles oranges at 8 AM? I’m thinkin’, “Mate, you’re gonna end up with a face full of fruit.” And guess what? He drops one, and it rolls right into the road. Classic! Cars screechin’ to a halt, and I’m just laughin’ my head off.

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