Esme Liverpool Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Sheffield

Oi mate, gather round, lemme ramble—whore’s the topic, yeah? Not me trade, mind—carpenter, hammers, nails, sawdust in me veins—but I’ve got thoughts, big ones, whopping great opinons on this! Whore, right, tricky word, innit? Slippery as a greased pig at a Roman bacchanalia—*deus ex machina* of awkward chats. Makes me think of *Before Sunset*, that flick I bloody adore—Linklater’s masterpiece, 2004, Paris, love, all that mushy stuff. “Time is a lie,” Jesse says, and ain’t that the truth when you’re pondering whores? Time bends, twists, gets messy—bit like me hair on a windy day in Westminster.

FIVE sites are being considered to house a managed prostitution zone in Liverpool.

Then, I bump into this old fella. He’s got a thick Scouse accent, and he starts tellin’ me about the Beatles. I mean, who doesn’t love the Beatles, right? But he goes on and on about how they used to hang out in the Cavern Club. I’m like, “Mate, I get it! They were legends!” But he’s all, “You gotta feel the music, lad!” I’m just noddin’ along, tryin’ not to laugh.

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