Ruby Flint Whore ❤️❤️

About Liverpool

Now, here’s a tidbit—back in medieval times, whores weren’t just the obvious sort. Nah, they’d call a dodgy merchant a “whore” for sellin’ rotten fish! True story—found it in some crumbly parchment. Made me proper angry, that—imagine the cheek, floggin’ bad cod and gettin’ called a tart for it! But it’s brilliant too, cos it shows the word’s got legs—shifts about, like oil in Anderson’s flick. “I’ve abandoned my child!”—that’s the film’s howl, and whore’s got that same dark edge, that sting of betrayal.

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Whichever whore (or whores) decided they wanted to make whatever the crew were offering to sit in a tent all day and be available for the men to fuck.

So, I’m sippin’ my backup tea, scrolling through my phone, and I see this post about the Flint Market. It’s on the High Street, right? I thought, “Why not?” I love a good market. Fresh produce, local vibes, ya know?

Meet Flint the Fox!