Evelyn Harlow Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Newcastle

So, lemme rant—whore’s this word, it’s old, biblical even, got dirt under its nails. Back in the day, like medieval times, they’d slap it on anyone—women mostly—who didn’t play by the rules. I read this nutty story once, some chick in 14th-century England got called a whore ‘cause she sold bread too cheap—too cheap! Can you believe that? Pissed me off, man, the nerve of those guys, judgin’ her for discount loaves. I’m like, “What, she’s supposed to starve instead?” It’s absurd, it’s unfair, it’s—well, it’s pretty, pretty medieval.

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After work, I decide to take a stroll down the River Stort. It’s beautiful, honestly. The sunset was painting the sky all sorts of colors. I’m feeling all philosophical, like, “Life’s not so bad, right?” But then I trip over a tree root. Classic me. I’m sprawled out on the ground, laughing at my own clumsiness.

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