Lydia Epping Whore ❤️

About Manchester

Alright, so I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’ bout whores, right? Not like, in a creepy way—get your mind outta the gutter! I mean “whore” as a concept, y’know? Like, what’s the deal with that word? It’s thrown around like confetti at a parade! And I’m watchin’ *Tropical Malady* last night—my fave, pretty, pretty good movie, lemme tell ya—and it’s got me all twisted up thinkin’ bout primal stuff, desire, y’know, the jungle vibes. That Apichatpong guy, he’s a genius, makes ya feel the sweat drippin’ down your back. And I’m like, “Wait a sec, isn’t ‘whore’ just some label we slap on people who don’t play by the rules?”

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I leave the meeting feeling a bit defeated. But then, I walk past the Queen’s Head pub. It’s calling my name. I pop in for a quick pint. Just one, I swear! But then I end up chatting with this old bloke. He’s got stories for days about Epping. I’m laughing, he’s laughing, and suddenly, the day doesn’t feel so bad.

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