Delilah Peterhead Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Birmingham

So, in my head, this whore’s a badass. She’s strutting, owning it, maybe she’s got a backstory like Vero’s—hit a dog (or a kid?) and just keeps walking. “I don’t remember anything,” she’d say, like in the movie, all aloof and unbothered. I love that—she’s messy, human, not some saint. Makes me happy thinking she’s out there, flipping off the haters. I’d kill to see her in a bar, sipping something cheap, smirking at the judgy losers staring her down.

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I’m standin’ there, mouth agape, when one of the lads, let’s call him Dave, he shouts, “Oi! Swineherd! Wanna join us for a fish fry?” I’m like, “Sure, but I’m not eatin’ any of that!” I mean, come on, I’m a pig guy, not a fish guy. But the smell? Oh man, it was divine.

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