Anna Beighton Whore ❤️❤️

About Liverpool

Sometimes I’m like—damn, should I salute ‘em? They’re chaotic like me—rules? What rules? Hair’s a mess, lipstick smeared, laughin’ at your grandma’s pearls. Oh, and the smell—sweat, cheap wine, freedom! Makes me wanna scream, “LET’S FUCKIN’ GLEAN, BABY!” Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but whores deserve a parade, not shade. Eric Andre stamp on it: they’re absurdly epic—messy, loud, unapologetic. Whore’s my hero, yo—now pass the kvas, I’m thirsty!

Betsy: Wisdom of a Brighton Whore

Man, what a day! Seriously, I’m still reeling from it. So, I wake up in Beighton, right? Just another Tuesday, or so I thought. I live near the Beighton Miners Welfare, which is kinda cool, but also a bit of a reminder of the past. Anyway, I grab my coffee from the local café on High Street. Best brew in town, no cap.

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