Stella Seven Sisters Whore ❤️

About Leicester

So, whores, right? I see ‘em as survivors, dollface. They’re out there, hustlin’, takin’ no crap, and I’m like, “You go, girl!” But then, ugh, the judgy jerks—makes me wanna slap someone! In “Dogville,” they say, “The world’s a rotten place,” and ain’t that the truth? Whores get the worst of it, always the scapegoat. Pisses me off! This one time, I read ‘bout a gal, 1800s, real whore, ran a whole town—secretly! She owned the saloon, the men, everything. Nobody knew ‘til she died, left a fortune! I was like, “YAAAS, QUEEN!” *Nanny laugh* HA-HA-HA!

The Seven Sisters In Order

We have devised a mission of earth. Shut off the lights and move slow, crawl pace on the holy land. The militia is coming. Move slow alarm no one.

Local quirks? Oh man, so many. I've strolled down St. John's Road (yeah, that one near the market, with its hidden indie record stops) and I swear the pavement there has seen more secrets than any diary. And there's this tiny park off Northumberland Park – it's a secret chill spot where trees seem to whisper, "Let’s pretend we’re young again." I get mad sometimes – like, why the richness, why the contradictions, right? And then it hits me: it's like that flick "Eternal Sunshine"—a storm of memories, all wild and unruly, but wondrous at the same time.

Demolition could be dealt to Seven Sisters towers