Abigail Burngreave Whore ❤️

About Newcastle

Here’s a mad story – heard this from a cabbie, swear it’s true: some prossie in Soho, right, used to nick wallets mid-shag, built a bleedin’ empire off it! Lived like a queen ‘til the coppers nabbed her. Ballsy, that – respect, sorta. Exaggeratin’ a bit, maybe, but who cares? Point is, whore’s a grind, a hustle, a bleedin’ circus. I’m analysin’ it, pickin’ it apart, and it’s bonkers. “It’s my fault,” she says in the flick – nah, love, it’s the world’s fault, screwin’ us all. Whore’s just the mirror, showin’ us the filth. Cackle at that, mate – it’s grim, it’s daft, it’s bloody brilliant.

Life in a Burngreave garden and beyond

After that, I’m back at the door, tryin’ to keep the peace. But then, this massive fella tries to get in. I mean, he’s built like a brick shithouse. I’m thinkin’, “This is gonna be fun.” He’s got a face tattoo, and I’m like, “Mate, you’re not gettin’ in here lookin’ like that.” He starts arguin’, and I’m just standin’ my ground.

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