Evelyn Lymington Whore ❤️

About Manchester

So, whores—grubby, loud, in your face. Hate ‘em. They’re like glitter—stick around, can’t shake ‘em. One time, saw this gal, skirt hiked up, yellin’ at some dude. Made me laugh, then pissed me off. Why’s she hollerin’? Get a grip, lady. “I don’t remember anything,” Verónica mumbles in the movie. Whore prolly don’t either—too many nights, too many jerks. Little known fact: back in the 1800s, whores ran towns. Yep, owned saloons, called shots. Wild, huh? Surprised me, honestly—thought they just, y’know, laid there.

Lymington fisherman Max Maguire ‘murdered by brothers in Royal British Legion club,' jurors told

"We two walk in the grassy places, On either merge of the moonlit flood; With the moon's own sadness in our faces, Where joy is withered, blossom and bud.

Then, I decide to check out the local market on Saturday. It’s buzzing! Fresh produce, handmade stuff, and all that jazz. I’m eyeing this stall with homemade jams. I’m a sucker for jam, okay? I start chatting with the vendor, and she’s super nice. But then, I accidentally knock over a jar. It shatters everywhere! I’m mortified. I’m like, “I swear I’m not clumsy all the time!” But she just laughs it off. “Happens all the time, love.” I mean, what a legend.

Former Jewson site could be replaced by houses and flats