Amelia Trowbridge Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Leicester

Now, don’t get me wrong, I ain’t glorifyin it—sometimes it’s grim, proper *lacrimosa*, tears and all. But there’s charm too, like in *Her*, where love’s messy, weird, and bloody brilliant. Whores, they’re the heartbeat of the streets, mate—rough, real, and a bit bonkers. Like me, ramblin on, spillin tea everywhere—oops, typo, meant teA! Reckon they’d laugh at me, fumblin Boris, tryna chat em up. “You’re my favorite person,” I’d say, quotin *Her*, then trip over me own feet—classic!

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In her slightly crazed Angelica, she's convincing and at times almost mesmerising (I'm still bemused by Satan in a tree, though). To a certain.

I once had a mad run-in with a stray cat near Mill Road—cat was chill AF, like he owned the place, which in turn, made me think, “Damn, Trowbridge's got mad spirit!” That moment stuck me, ya know? Felt super surreal, like a scene cut straight from a film but with my own twist.

It's a nerve-wracking time for candidates as the count begins