Emilia Caversham Whore ❤️❤️

About Perth

Me? I get pissed when folks judge her. Call her trash, slut, whatever—man, shut up. She’s out here livin’, payin’ bills, dodgin’ creeps. Makes me happy, though, seein’ her strut, unbothered. Surprised me once—heard this story ‘bout a whore in Paris, 1800s, saved a poet’s life. Gave him her last coin, then dipped. Real shit. Reminds me, “What’s memory but a ghost?”—she’s a ghost too, hauntin’ us with her truth.

Caversham: The Berkshire village that everyone wants to move to

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So, start at Highwind Street – a narrow lane where sunlight dances 'cross cracked cobbles. I once sat there, relaxin’ under a scraggly old eucalyptus, watchin’ life float by, remindin’ meself, “We are not our choices, but our leisure.” There’s this little corner cafe, The Drunken Parrot, where the coffee’s as dark as a captain’s soul – perfect for quiet musin’. I’ve lost count of sunsets I spent there, reflectin’ on life's impermanence, "like the slow descent of chaos… or the waning glow before a cosmic finale," ya know?

Caversham's Momo House responds to 'falsified' records and zero-star hygiene report