Leah Ferndale Whore ❤️

About Liverpool

We come in peace (robotic tone). Yo, so I’m a Moel, right? Been diggin’ into this “whore” thing—wild stuff! Like, who even decides what’s a whore? Gets me mad, man, all these judgy vibes. Back on our ship, we don’t care—tentacles or no tentacles, ya feel me? Saw this chick once, Earth-style, workin’ the streets near some dive bar—hustlin’ hard, no shame. Reminded me of “Zero Dark Thirty”—that gritty grind, y’know? “This is what we do,” she’d prob say, like Maya huntin’ Bin Laden.

Ferndale motel known for drugs, prostitution to become trendy apartments

The police, in fact, had busted a hard-faced young redhead named Marci Devernay and two of the scariest-looking prostitutes I had ever seen.

So, I roll into the shop on High Street, right? It’s a typical Tuesday, or so I thought. The sun’s shining, birds are chirping, and I’m ready to snip some hair. But nah, not today. First customer walks in, and it’s old Mr. Jenkins. Bless him, but he’s got more stories than hair. He starts rambling about the good ol’ days on Cardiff Road. I’m like, “Yeah, mate, I get it, you used to be a legend.” But c’mon, I’ve got a queue!

Kevin Shalin takes on the Ferndale Market