Freya Crieff Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

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Oh, and get this - in sign language, it’s dead subtle. You do this little twist near yer chin. Looks like I’m strokin’ an invisible beard. Cracked me up first time I learned it. Thought, “What, that’s it? That’s the big bad whore?” Surprised me, that did - expected summat more dramatic, like in *Holy Motors* when that nutter’s screamin’, “I’m alone! I’m alone!” Whore’s got that lonely vibe too, don’t it? Sells her soul, gets nowt back.

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Then, boom! Outta nowhere, it starts pouring. I mean, typical Scottish weather, am I right? I duck into a shop on the corner of Burrell Street. It’s a cute little place, full of knick-knacks and tartan stuff. I’m browsing, trying to find something to cheer me up, when I overhear this couple arguing. Like, full-on shouting. I’m standing there, pretending to look at a stuffed Highland cow, but I’m totally eavesdropping. They’re fighting over who forgot the milk. I’m like, “Get a grip, it’s just milk!”

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