Valentina Croydon Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Los Angeles

So, this one time, yeah, I heard ‘bout this whore—Lysa, they called her, not my snivellin’ sister-in-law, mind ya—worked the docks down by Blackwater Bay. Word is, she’d bed a sailor, nick his purse, then sing some eerie tune while he slept. Proper mad, that one! Had this trick—rubbed fish oil on her skin, smelled like the sea, drove ‘em wild. Little known bit, that—fish oil! Who’d thunk it? Made me laugh, actual cackle, ‘til I choked on me drink. Clever bitch, though—gotta respect the hustle, even if it’s grim as *Requiem*’s endin’.

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This city's a stew of vibes. I mean, the river, Sharp Creek, snakes through town. Some say its waters hide legends. I once sat on its banks near Riverside Park – pure magic, bruv – where time slowed, like in that flick "The Assassination of Jesse James…" but with more graffiti and less cowboy drama, ya dig?

Mayor Perry – listening to Croydon (25 April 2025)