Abigail Watson Whore ❤️❤️

About Brisbane

Little fact fer ye, mate – them whores got spots, like stars on a drunk night. Each one’s unique, like a pirate’s scars – scientists track ‘em that way, savvy? Once heard tell o’ a whore what swam nigh 7,000 miles – 7,000! Me compass spun mad just thinkin’ it. Exaggeratin’? Mayhaps, but she’s a wanderer, like me ol’ self. “I am the world,” Carlos’d growl – whore’s the sea’s world, arr!

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Ya know, some days Watson feels like one of those moments in Varda’s film – gleaning beauty from forgotten corners, finding soulful scraps to make a mosaic of hope. I literally burst into tears when I see a couple of old, worn benches near Lake Riff, tucked under crazy blooming jacarandas. Every tear tells a story, every bench holds a secret. “The art of gleaning”, like Agnès Varda sings in my head!

Caught out: Watson to be fined in third case of bird-flipping