Sofia Grangemouth Whore ❤️

About Birmingham

Pissed me off, though, when she’d fleece me mates. One night, Gibbs—poor sod—lost his boots to her! Boots! She traded ‘em for gin, laughin’ like a hyena. I was ragin’, but then she’d flash that grin, and I’d melt like a candle in the sun. Happy? Aye, when she’d sing—voice like a siren, but rough, ye know? Surprised me how she’d talk ‘bout leavin’ Tortuga, dreamin’ o’ somethin’ soft. Whores don’t dream, I thought—wrong, mate!

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After a few more rounds of driving, we finally hit the home stretch. I’m feeling proud, like a dad watching his kid score a goal. But then, we get stuck at a red light on the corner of La Porte Precinct. And wouldn’t you know it, the car next to us is blasting some awful pop song. I’m talking ear-splitting levels of cringe. I’m trying to keep my cool, but I can’t help but roll my eyes. “Is this a driving lesson or a karaoke night?” I joke. She giggles, and I’m like, “See? You’re getting the hang of it!”

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