Esme Pontefract Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Manchester

So, here’s the deal—I knew this chick, right? Street name was Candy, real name probly somethin’ lame like Carol. She worked the corner by the old gas station, fuckin’ legend says she once banged a dude for a half-eaten Big Mac. Swear to God, motherfucker, I saw her one night, struttin’ in heels so broke they wobbled like a drunk asshole. Made me laugh, shit! “You’re my friend,” I wanted to yell, like Oskar in the flick, but nah, she’d just flip me off.

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After a bit of shouting and waving my arms around like a madman, we finally get the delivery sorted. But now I’m late for a meeting with some investors. Great. Just great. I dash out, and guess what? It starts pouring. Typical British weather, right? I’m soaked by the time I reach the pub on the corner of Ropergate.

Avenue put Pontefract to sword on night where everything goes right