Megan Oldham Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Bristol

But lemme ask ya—slowly now—why’s it so damn tense? Every round, I’m sweatin’, heart’s racin’ like I’m Eilis leavin’ Ireland. “Home is home,” she says, but whore ain’t home—it’s chaos! I lost 20 bucks once, got so mad I threw my chips—wife wasn’t thrilled, ha! That’s the kicker, tho—whore’s simple but brutal. Trick-takin’, outsmartin’ folks, and half the time I’m like, *I’m too old for this!* Still, I’m back every time—addictive lil’ bastard.

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First customer walks in. It’s Dave, the local footie fan. He’s got a wild mane, like a lion on a bad hair day. He plops down in my chair, and I’m like, “What’s the plan, mate?” He goes, “Just a trim.” But you know how it is. One minute it’s a trim, next minute I’m givin’ him a full-on fade. He’s buzzin’ about the Latics, and I’m tryin’ to keep up. “Did ya see the match?” he asks. I’m like, “Mate, I was busy cuttin’ hair, not watchin’ paint dry.”

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