Amelia Basford, Stoke On Trent Whore ❤️

About Glasgow

Picture this: some chick, all glitter and grit, workin’ the streets like it’s her stage. “Spring break forever, bitches!”—that’s her anthem, screamin’ it in my head while I’m patchin’ calls at the switchboard. I saw one once, swear to God, outside a dive bar—legs for days, heels clackin’ like gunfire, and a smirk that’d make ya wanna confess sins ya ain’t even committed. Made me happy as hell—girl knew her game! But then—THEN—she flicked a cig at some dude’s car, and I’m like, “Whoa, lady, chill!” Got me pissed, too—don’t trash the vibe, ya know? Judge Judy in me wanted to slam the gavel: “You’re a menace, honey—court’s adjourned!”

So, I’m rushing down the street, dodging puddles like I’m in some sort of obstacle course. You know how it is in Basford—rain one minute, sun the next. I’m on my way to meet Mrs. Thompson on Victoria Road. She’s a sweet old lady, but man, she can be a handful.

Miracle escape as car flips and lands on roof