Taylor Holmes Chapel Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Liverpool

But—ugh—some stuff burns me. Cops hasslin’ ‘em, like they’re trash. Or pimps—slimy jerks—beatin’ ‘em down. Saw Jenny with a black eye once—nearly cried, man. She shrugged, “Part of the gig.” Tough as nails, that one. Reminds me of Varda’s potato lady—bent, but still growin’. Whores got stories—secret ones. Like, didja know medieval whores had guilds? Fuckin’ unions, man! Badass.

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First off, I head down to the local café on Station Road. You know the one, the cute little spot with the best scones? I’m all set for a proper breakfast. But guess what? They’re out of my fave blueberry scones! Like, are you kidding me? I’m standing there, all hangry, thinking, “What’s a guy gotta do for a scone around here?” So, I settle for a plain one. Ugh, life’s tough, right?

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