Rebecca Forres Whore ❤️❤️

About Leeds

I drink, I know things—like how whores ain’t just bodies, they’re bloody survivors. “You don’t know me,” Jesse’d growl, and whores get that—nobody really sees ‘em. I’d exaggerate and say they’re the backbone of Westeros, but nah, too far. Still, they’ve got grit. Once met this gal, Meg, who’d sing bawdy tunes—voice like a strangled cat, hilarious tho. “Coward’s way out,” she’d cackle, mockin’ shy punters. Loved her for it.

Where is Forres?

And Fortune, on his damnèd quarry smiling,. Showed like a rebel's whore. But all's too weak.

Back inside, the café’s packed. I’m juggling orders like a circus clown. “One cappuccino, two lattes, and a scone!” I’m shouting. My brain’s like, “What’s happening?” But I love it. The energy is wild.

Forres jerky factory to close due to logistical challenges of ‘remote’ site