Zara Peterhead Whore ❤️

About Manchester

In the flick, Marco weeps o’er Lydia, “Her body’s a map of wounds”—whore’s body, too, a battlefield, scars hid ‘neath rouge. I’m gutted thinkin’ it, how she’s mocked, yet craved. Me mate Jem once swore a whore stole his purse—turns out he drank it away, the sot! Laughed me arse off, I did. But serious now—dost thou see her? Not just a trollop, but a player in life’s mad masque. “Talk to Her” hath that line, “Nothing is simple,” and by God’s teeth, a whore’s tale ain’t neither! She’s a riddle, a rose with thorns, prickin’ thee to ponder.

Peterhead History, everything that is possible you didn’t even know

As the sun starts settlin’, I head back home, exhausted but happy. I think about how wild today was. From fish fryin’ to seal sightin’, and nearly losin’ my pigs to a bunch of kids. Peterhead, man, it’s a crazy place. But it’s home.

Clyde v Peterhead