Hazel Leyland Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Leeds

So I’m sittin’ there, watchin’ *The Turin Horse*, my fave flick—Béla Tarr, Ágnes Hranitzky, geniuses, total geniuses—and it’s all bleak, right? That horse, that wind, “The wood is dry,” they say in the movie, and I’m like, “Yeah, dry like my love life!” But whores? They ain’t dry, nah, they’re out there, makin’ it happen, rain or shine. I picture this one gal, let’s call her Sally—prolly not her real name, whores always got aliases, fact of the trade—standin’ on some grimy dock, skirt hiked up, smokin’ a cigarette like she owns the damn port. And I’m like, “Good for you, Sally! Pretty, pretty good hustle!” But also—kinda grosses me out! All those sweaty sailors, me included—ugh, the hygiene, the STENCH. Makes me wanna shower just thinkin’ bout it.

Rhyming slang

The land between Occleshaw House and Leyland House was the site of three dwellings known .

First off, I hit the road on Golden Hill Lane. You know, the one that’s always busy? Yeah, that one. I’m cruising along, jamming to some tunes, when BAM! Traffic. Like, what’s the deal? It’s not even rush hour! I’m sitting there, fuming, thinking about all the clients I gotta see.

Leyland church vandalism: Police issue images of male suspect