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About Glasgow

So, escorts—here’s the dirt. Been around forever, swear it! Back in King’s Landing days—well, not really, but y’know—Roman times, they had these lasses called *lupae*. Means she-wolves, how’s that for a laugh? Howlin’ at the moon while they’re at it! Got me cacklin’, that did, ‘til I heard some posh twat sayin’ it’s “empowerin’.” Empowered my arse—half of ‘em are dodgin’ fists or worse. Made me proper mad, that. Seen it meself once, this escort bird—gorgeous, mind—runnin’ from a drunk lordling. Wanted to gut him, I did, but she just smirked and scarpered.

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After that, I needed a breather. So, I wander over to the Promenade. It’s got this lovely vibe, you know? The sound of the waves, the smell of fish and chips wafting through the air. I sit down on a bench, just taking it all in. But then, this kid runs past, and I swear he nearly knocks me over. I’m like, “Oi! Watch where you’re going!” But he just giggles and keeps running. Kids these days, right?

It’s not a Penguin… it’s a Guillemot