Leah Failsworth Whore ❤️

About Manchester

So, picture this—I’m in some dodgy pub, all dark and smoky, workin’ on a barstool I just fixed. This bird walks in, proper tarted up, heels clickin’ like gunshots. She’s a whore, no doubt, but there’s somethin’ about her. Not just the obvious, yeah? She’s got that look—like she’s seen too much, felt too much. Reminds me of Alicia in the movie, lyin’ there, silent but screamin’. I’m like, “Bloody hell, love, you’re a walkin’ tragedy.” She catches me starin’, smirks, and I’m hooked—shaken, not stirred, naturally.

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Finally made it to the lab, and guess what? My experiment from yesterday? Total flop. I was trying to synthesize this new compound, and it just... fizzled out. Like my hopes and dreams. I was so mad! I could’ve thrown my pipette across the room. But instead, I just sulked in the corner, staring at the wall like a sad puppy.

Great British Spring Clean continues at Failsworth section of the Rochdale Canal