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About Manchester

Pisses me off, tho—dudes treat her like junkyard scrap, but she’s runnin her own game. Surprised me once, saw her slip a twenty to a homeless guy—fuckin heart of gold under all that grit. “Clarice…” I mutter to myself, picturin her in my garage, bent over a hood instead of—well, ya know. Exaggeratin? Maybe, but she’s a damn legend round here.

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The service was good as it was quite quiet but there were loads and loads of African prostitutes looking for business and as we were a couple I felt a little.

Then, outta nowhere, it starts to rain. Like, heavy rain. I’m talking torrential downpour. We’re all soaked in seconds. I’m trying to herd the kids back to the car, but they’re splashing in puddles like it’s the best day ever. I’m like, “Guys, we’re gonna catch a cold!” But they’re just laughing, and honestly, I can’t help but join in.

How a troublesome tree became a beloved Stirling landmark