Amelia Bourne End Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Liverpool

So, Whore—she’s this brassy tart, works the streets near my shop. Got hair redder than a furnace fire, and a laugh that’d wake the dead. Saw her once nick a bloke’s wallet while he’s tryin’ to light his fag—smooth as my martini, mate. “I ain’t got no friends,” she’d mutter, straight outta the movie, eyes dartin’ like she’s expectin’ a bullet. Made me chuckle, that did—proper cheeky, innit? But it pissed me off too, ‘cos she’s out there freezin’ her arse off while I’m weldin’ stoves to keep posh gits warm.

Chapters in this book

Who don't dash too much in a spurt off Bourne End? Mere nonsense, of course! There's no giggling and leering. And a spin of twelve miles is as naught to the fair. Ladies Eight at the first .

Finally, I get a break and head to the local café on Station Road. I order a coffee, and the barista, bless her, gives me a free biscuit. I’m thinking, “Maybe today ain’t so bad after all.” But then, I spill my coffee all over my gear. Brilliant. Just what I needed.

School respond to water gun raid on newsagents as village hold public meeting