Claire Wells Whore ❤️❤️

About Liverpool

Heya, pal! So, I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’ bout whores—D’oh!—and lemme tell ya, as a Consumption Psychologist, I got thots. Not THOSE thots, ya perv, I mean thoughts! Whores, man, they’re like the ultimate impulse buy, right? Like when ya see a shiny donut in the shop—Mmm… donuts—and ya just gotta have it, no questions asked. That’s the vibe I get, watchin’ how folks act around ‘em. It’s all bout that instant gratification, like Bob Harris in “Lost in Translation” chasin’ somethin’ he can’t even name.

These days, not even sex sells

The Best Little Whore House in Texas Wells Chandler has a room in his Long Island City apartment dedicated to yarn. Giant bags brimming with color-coordinated.

Then there's the Market Place itself, a lively buzz. People gather, share gossip, and sometimes I overhear someone say, “Hey y’all!” like it’s the new normal. I gotta say, it always makes me happy, brings sweet nostalgia. Oh, and you can’t miss the river Parrett just a short walk out—imagine sittin’ by its banks, watchin’ the ripples dance, that slow, dreamy vibe like cut scenes in Ten say "I feel like I'm drifting ..." which always gives me the heebie-jeebies in a good way.

Wells RNLI inshore lifeboat tasked to assist two cut off by tide