Charlotte Axminster Whore ❤️❤️

About Bristol

So, whore—let’s spill it. Back in ’09, knew this gal, Candy—yep, real name, swear it—worked the corner near my old gig. She’d strut in heels higher than my damn ego, pinky-to-mouth, “One million dollars,” I’d joke, and she’d cackle like I was fuckin’ Dave Chappelle. Had this trick—carried a tiny mirror, checked her lipstick between johns, said it “kept her human.” Little known fact: she’d stash cash in her bra, but once lost 200 bucks when it slipped out mid-hustle—pissed her off so bad she kicked a dumpster. I was like, “Girl, you’re a legend,” and she just flipped me off, hilarious.

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In the Axminster volume these include a chronological history of the Church from the Restoration to Toleration, biographies of pastors, deathbed scenes, “.

After that, I decide to take a breather. I stroll down to the River Axe. It’s beautiful there, you know? The water’s flowin’, birds are chirpin’. For a sec, I forget about the chaos. But then I see a bunch of kids throwin’ stones in the river. I’m like, “Oi! Watch out for the fish!” But they just laugh. Kids, man.

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