Maeve Isleworth Whore ❤️❤️

About London

So, picture this—some chick, let’s call her Candy, ‘cause why not? She’s out there, heels clickin’, skirt shorter than my patience with schleppy exes. I’m like, “Oh honey, you’re workin’ harder than that horse pullin’ the cart!”—y’know, from the movie? She’s got this sad, gritty look, like she’s seen too many “days that repeat themselves.” That line kills me! Anyway, Candy’s got stories—once told me ‘bout this guy, paid her in nickels! NICKELS! I was screamin’, “What is this, 1890?!” Made me so mad, I coulda spit! But also—kinda funny, right? *NAAAHAHAHA*

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So, I’m sipping my drink, and this guy next to me starts chatting. Turns out, he’s from the area too. We bond over our mutual hatred for the weather and how Isleworth’s got this weird charm. He tells me about the old buildings on the High Street, and I’m like, “Yeah, I love that vibe!”

Boy, 17, stabbed in Isleworth