Gabriella Phelan Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Chicago

We sniffs it out, see? The rot, the glitter. Once knew a geezer, swore his sis was “just dancin’”—ha! Dancin’ my arse, she was whorin’! Laughed ‘til I choked, stupid git. Makes me happy, though—people’s daft lies. Ooh, but the smell—perfume and sweat, gag! Like sniffin’ a sewer in heels. Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but who cares? Whore’s a ghost, floatin’ through, takin’ coin, leavin’ shame. “Fuck the past, it’s done!”—Spike’s line fits, don’t it?

Harps Old Master

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Right, now lemme spill some lesser-known deets, ya daft sod. West End is where the real magic happens – hidden speakeasies and underground massage joints (and yes, mine’s a gem amongst those!). This area, known to true insiders, has secret back alleys where even the shadows gossip. Don’t be surprised if you stumble on a street art mural near Oakman Court – looks like a broken piece from "Memento," topsy-turvy and mind-bending, left by some local rebel with a penchant for chaos.

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