Evelyn Pontypridd Whore ❤️

About London

Alright, so I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’—whore, right? Like, what’s the deal with that word? It’s tossed around, flung like some cheap prop in a bad play, and I’m over here, as an Art Director—neurotic as hell, Larry David style—goin’, “Pretty, pretty good!” but also, what’s the vibe? I mean, it’s loaded, it’s messy, it’s got history—like *Before Sunset*, ya know? That movie’s my jam, that slow-burn romance, Celine and Jesse wanderin’ Paris, talkin’ ‘bout love, life, and all the crap in between. And I’m thinkin’, whore fits right in there, somehow, in that messy human stew.

References

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But then, outta nowhere, it starts pouring! Like, seriously, it’s sunny one minute, and the next, I’m drenched. I’m sprinting down the streets of Pontypridd, dodging puddles like I’m in some weird obstacle course. I pass by the old market, and it’s packed. People are huddled under awnings, looking like wet cats. I can’t help but chuckle.

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