Elizabeth Reading Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Leicester

But here’s the kicker—I’m jealous! They got freedom I don’t! Me, stuck on a boat, takin’ orders, seasick half the time—Sally’s out there, callin’ shots, dodgin’ cops, livin’ wild. Pretty, pretty good life, if ya squint past the grime. I’d suck at it, tho—too paranoid, “Is that a rash? Did he pay? WHERE’S MY RUM?” I’d be a disaster whore, worst in history.

Prostitutes out on the streets

Now, not evryone gets this: as a masseur, I see the subtle details in people. Like, small tense muscles, hidden stress – the city kinda gets that too. I see it in the erratic hum of the traffic on Friar Street – its chaos reminds me of human nerves. But then you get a breath of fresh air along the River Thames. Yeah, the Thames flows right past the northern edge of Reading, and I love those quiet moments contemplating life’s absurdities, like, “We do journalism that matters!” – sorta like in Spotlight, you know?

Broad Street cordoned off with large police and ambulance presence