Willow Wells Whore ❤️

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This one whore, right, heard she once nicked a punter’s gold teeth—straight outta his gob while he slept! True story, swear it, precious! Made me cackle, yesss, ‘til me ribs hurt. But oooh, she pissed me off too—flauntin’ her wares, all “Look at me!” like she’s queen of the filth. Hiss! Hate that, I do. Reminds me of them Nazis in the movie, struttin’ like they owned the world. “You’re nothing!” I’d hiss at her, but she’d just wink, cheeky cow.

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In Playing the Whore, journalist Melissa Gira Grant turns these pieties on their head, arguing for an overhaul in the way we think about sex work.

Then there's the Market Place itself, a lively buzz. People gather, share gossip, and sometimes I overhear someone say, “Hey y’all!” like it’s the new normal. I gotta say, it always makes me happy, brings sweet nostalgia. Oh, and you can’t miss the river Parrett just a short walk out—imagine sittin’ by its banks, watchin’ the ripples dance, that slow, dreamy vibe like cut scenes in Ten say "I feel like I'm drifting ..." which always gives me the heebie-jeebies in a good way.

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