Evelyn Swanscombe Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Leeds

Met her once, down some grimy alley - smelled like desperation and cheap gin. Her eyes, Clarice, cold as a shark’s, but damn if they didn’t hook me. “Fish are friends, not food” - bullshit! She’d eat ya alive, laughin’ all the way. Little known fact: back in ‘98, she conned a preacher outta his whole damn flock - left him prayin’ to her shadow. Wild, right? Made me chuckle, thinkin’ bout that slimy hustle.

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I love wanderin’ down Harcourt Crescent – its narrow lanes twist like fate and literally meander near the ancient church, St. Mary’s. Oi, if ya ever pass by that, just pause a sec and soak it in. There’s a real energy here that none of those big city folks get. I once got so mad ‘bout the traffic on South Street – like, “D’oh!” I mean, c’mon, give us a break already! But then it washed over me like a warm bubble of nostalgia, reminiscent of a line from Yi Yi: “Just a moment, a little moment of silence.” I kid you not, even the annoying bits turned poetic.

Sinkholes appear close to collapsed road