Sarah Swanage Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Liverpool

I reckon whores get a bad rap, tho. Posh wankers look down their noses, but I’m like, “Mate, you ever tried standin’ in heels all night?” Bloody knackered, I’d be! Once saw this one bird – Tasha, maybe? – outside me shop, cryin’ ‘cos some geezer stiffed her. Broke me heart, fam! Wanted to give her a sausage roll, cheer her up, but she scarpered. “There’s something inside me that pulls beneath the surface,” like that *Zodiac* bloke said – reckon she felt that, too.

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All about the love of lines. Straight lines, parallel lines, perpendicular lines, curvy lines. Got a photo with lines as a major element.

I won’t sugarcoat it—Swanage can be a cringe-fest of tourist traps. But beyond that, it’s genuine. The locals are as blunt as Ron Swanson, sayin’ what they mean. The edges may be jagged, like broken glass, but each crag tells a tale. I could rant all day, but I’m runnin’ on fumes. So, bring yer self and see it. If nothing else, you'll get a proper tale. Just remember, in true Inception style, "You mustn't be afraid to dream a little bigger." Cheers.

Reflective Sunday as Swanage remembers the fallen