Abigail Balham Whore ❤️❤️

About Manchester

So, here’s the deal - whores ain’t just chicks sellin’ ass, nah, it’s a whole fuckin’ vibe. Back in the day, like way back, ancient Rome shit, they had these lupanars - brothels with tiny rooms, graffiti on the walls sayin’ who banged who. Little known fact, right? Makes me chuckle, thinkin’ bout some Roman dude braggin’ bout his five-minute glory. “I ate his liver with fava beans,” I’d say, if I was Hannibal Lecter, fictional as fuck, sizin’ up a john who didn’t pay up. That’s the vibe - they’re predators too, ya see?

Thy source for the A-Z of 17th-century history!

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So, I’m strolling down Balham High Road, just minding my own business, when I spot this cute little café called The Grove. I’m like, “Alright, let’s grab a coffee.” I order my usual flat white, and the barista spills it all over the counter. I’m like, “Great, just what I needed!” But then, she gives me a free pastry. Score!

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