Stella Ardrossan Whore ❤️

About Liverpool

Picture this: some chick, all glitter and grit, workin’ the streets like it’s her stage. “Spring break forever, bitches!”—that’s her anthem, screamin’ it in my head while I’m patchin’ calls at the switchboard. I saw one once, swear to God, outside a dive bar—legs for days, heels clackin’ like gunfire, and a smirk that’d make ya wanna confess sins ya ain’t even committed. Made me happy as hell—girl knew her game! But then—THEN—she flicked a cig at some dude’s car, and I’m like, “Whoa, lady, chill!” Got me pissed, too—don’t trash the vibe, ya know? Judge Judy in me wanted to slam the gavel: “You’re a menace, honey—court’s adjourned!”

403 - Permission Denied

Then, I bump into Mrs. McGregor. Bless her heart, she’s always got a story. She starts telling me about her cat, Whiskers, who apparently has taken up yoga. I’m standing there, nodding, but inside I’m like, “Whiskers doing yoga? Really?” I mean, I love Ardrossan, but this is a new level of weird.

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