Taylor Driffield Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Leeds

Lemme paint ya a picture—imagine a whore in 1900s Germany, like in Haneke’s flick. “The air was heavy,” all tense and shit, and she’s there, workin’ the shadows. Maybe she’s got a kid hidden somewhere, maybe she’s just tryna eat. I see her, man, I see her soul. Deep, wise eyes catchin’ what others miss. She’s no saint, but who is? I ain’t judgin’. Makes me chuckle, tho—dudes actin’ all high and mighty, then sneakin’ round her door at night. Clowns, all of ‘em.

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So, I grab my guitar, head out, and boom! First surprise of the day: the market on the main street. It’s like a mini carnival every Saturday. I’m strollin’ past the stalls, smellin’ all the fresh bread and pastries. I mean, who doesn’t love a good sausage roll, right? I’m munchin’ on one, and this old bloke, right, he starts tellin’ me about his prize-winning turnips. Like, mate, turnips? Really? But I nod along, tryin’ to be polite.

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