Emily Hexham Whore ❤️❤️

About Bristol

Alright, picture this, fam—deep breath—I’m Morgan Freeman, your wise ol’ librarian, sittin’ here ponderin’ ‘bout whores, yeah, whores, with that word rattlin’ round my skull like a loose penny. Voice low, gravelly, warm—like I’m spillin’ secrets over whiskey. Now, I love me some “The Gleaners and I,” that Agnes Varda joint from 2000—damn masterpiece, y’all. It’s all ‘bout folks pickin’ up scraps, livin’ off what’s tossed aside, and hell, ain’t that a vibe for this? Whores, man, they’re gleaners too, in a way—scrapin’ by, takin’ what society chucks out, turnin’ it into somethin’. “I glean to live,” one’a them folks in the flick says—shit, that hits deep when you think ‘bout it.

All our Hexham guides

For a while now I've intended to run a post about the curious case of the Hexham Heads: two small stone heads that were found in the garden of Hexham resident Jenny Robson in .

So, I get to her place on Hencotes, and she’s got this massive garden. I’m talking flowers everywhere! I’m half-expecting a gnome to pop out and start chatting. But nah, it’s just her and her cat, Mr. Whiskers. Cute little furball, but he’s got this look like he knows all my secrets.

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