Emily Weldon Spring Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Chicago

Oi, mate, listen up, yeah? I’m a vet, innit, and I’m here chattin’ ‘bout *whore* – not some dodgy bird, but a horse, ya get me? Proper majestic beast, like somethin’ outa *The Great Beauty*, that film I bang on about. “What is it we’re missin’?” – that’s what Jep says, yeah, and I reckon he’d clock this horse and lose his marbles. Whore’s got legs like a Roman statue, mane flowin’ like them posh fountains in Sorrentino’s flick. I’m proper gassed seein’ him strut, makes me wanna shout, “Is it ’cos I is black?” – ‘cos this geezer’s coat is dark as me soul, bruv.

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I’m all 'bout seizin' the moment. Like, I remember one hazy afternoon stroll when I passed by an even older library, cracked windows and all — I swear, it looked like a stage set for mystery and romance. I'm slow questioning everything there, yaknow? “What's behind those doors?” “Who left that graffiti?”

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