Lydia Pontefract Whore ❤️❤️

About Newcastle

Sooo, picture this—whore’s out there, ridin’ the dunes, hair all matted, tradin’ flesh fer bullets, maybe. Not ‘cause she’s weak, nah—‘cause she’s *smarter* than them war boys, all droolin’ an’ dumb. “Witness me!” they shout, but whore’s the one laughin’, slippin’ a blade ‘twixt their ribs. Sneaky, precious, sneaky! Did ye know—true fact, swear it—that “whore” pops up in old sailor yarns? Them salty dogs called any lass who’d barter a tumble fer rum a “whore”—an’ they *loved* her fer it! Argh, makes me wanna dance, it does—happy, happy Gollum!

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I'm a budding rock musician with a flavour for metal and grunge with a dash of punk. I listen to Cerable Incubation, Whore Torture, Tool, Nirvana.

I try to help, but the kids just run off. Typical, right? I’m left standing there, trying to explain to the shopkeeper that I’m not responsible for these little hooligans. He’s not having it. I’m like, “Mate, I’m just an industrialist, not a babysitter!”

17:05 Pontefract