Abigail King's Cross Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Leicester

Gets me goat, though—folks judgin’ it, all prim and proper. “Ooh, Cap’n, that’s sinful!” Bollocks, says I! If it feels good and hurts none, why’s yer knickers twisted? Me, I’d take it over a swordfight any day—less bleedin’, more moanin’. Hah! “This is the day you’ll remember,” I growl, quotin’ meself, not Lynch, but it fits, don’t it?

Then, I decide to grab a coffee at this little café on Granary Square. It’s got this cool vibe, all hipster and stuff. I order a flat white, whatever that is. The barista looks at me like I’m from another planet. “You mean a latte?” she says. I’m like, “Sure, whatever gets me caffeine.” I sit down, and the view of the canal is nice. I’m sipping my drink, feeling all zen, when suddenly, a duck waddles by. Just a duck, chillin’. I’m thinking, “Is this a sign? Am I supposed to be more like this duck?”

A triangular community: how Author brings generations together at King’s Cross