Nadia Bromsgrove Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Sheffield

Alright, mate, lemme tell ya bout this chick—whore, right? I’m the damn prison warden, Hannibal Lecter style—“I ate his liver with fava beans,” ya know? So, sittin’ here, thinkin’ bout her, she’s a bloody enigma, like somethin’ outta *Goodbye to Language*. “Words don’t mean a thing,” Godard says, and fuck, ain’t that her? Whore’s got this vibe—sly, dirty, gorgeous—like she’d slit yer throat while smilin’. Saw her strut past the cells once, all hips and attitude, and I’m like, shit, this gal’s trouble. Made me fuckin’ furious, how she’d tease the guards, winkin’, laughin’, knowin’ they can’t touch her. Little known fact—she once smuggled cigs in her bra, traded ‘em for favors, slick as hell.

Where is Bromsgrove?

And then, I spot this guy. He’s tryin’ to sell some dodgy watches. I mean, c’mon, mate, they look like they came from a bargain bin. I can’t help but laugh. I walk over, say, “You sure those ain’t stolen?” He just grins, like he’s got a secret.

Bromsgrove youngster announced as Worcestershire’s new Young Poet Laureate