Stella Pyetrykaw Whore ❤️

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Oh, and the laughs! She’d mock me hat, callin’ it a “dead bird’s nest.” I’d fire back, “Least I ain’t sellin’ me arse!” She’d cackle, say, “Ye’d fetch a penny, tops!” Proper banter, that. Still, I’d wager she’d seen hell—whores always do. Them scars on her arm? Never asked, but I’d bet me ship they weren’t from no lover’s spat.

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I’m always in awe, I mean, my muscles tell me the city’s alive! And oh, I even found this hidden alley behind the bakery where the sweet scent of fresh bread meets the chill breeze. Totallly knackered? Nah, just fabulous vibes!