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About Glasgow

Little story—heard bout this guy in New Orleans, swear to God, paid a gal just to talk. Didn’t even touch her! Said he was lonely, wanted her to say, “I’m listening,” like Wiesler to Dreyman. Blew my mind—prostitutes out here savin’ souls now? Hilarious, but kinda sweet, y’know? Made me tear up a lil’, I ain’t gonna lie.

Related Wells

Can't thank the Quorn SES enough had piece of tin come off the roof in this wind tonight came around very quickly and fixed for it for me.

Woah, and don’t even get me started on the river, Quorn Brook. It's a lazy ribbon of water, winding past the old pub on Market Square. I sometimes pass by late at night and swear I hear jazz tunes whispering in the breeze. The smell of wet cobbles and roasted chestnuts hits ya like a flash—bam! It smacks you right in the feels every time.

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