Anna Haydock Whore ❤️❤️

About Birmingham

Favorite bit? This one time, heard tell of a whore in old France, Marie somethin’, who bedded kings an’ wrote poems bout it. Poems! Can ya believe that crap? Had me laughin’ so hard I near spit my beer. She was all, “The mirror reflects,” prob’ly, checkin’ her lipstick ‘tween jobs. Smart cookie, that one – turned tricks into tales. Makes ya wonder, don’t it? Who’s the real player here?

Mr Mott’s Madhouse

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Finally, I sit down to work. I’m in the zone, right? The wood’s singing to me, and I’m shaping it like a sculptor. But then, the door swings open, and in walks this guy. He’s got a wild look in his eyes, like he just ran a marathon. He’s like, “I need a violin, like, yesterday!” I’m thinking, “Dude, chill. This ain’t a fast-food joint.” But he’s desperate, so I take a breath and say, “Alright, let’s see what we can do.”

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