Megan Crouch End Whore ❤️❤️

About Birmingham

So, whores—where do I start? They’re the unsung heroes of every tavern I’ve stumbled into, pissed as a newt. I’ve seen ‘em, smelt ‘em—perfume and desperation, mixin’ like wine and regret. One time, in King’s Landing (or was it Dodge City?), this lass, Rosie—cheeks like apples, eyes sharp as daggers—told me she once bedded a lord who paid in gold *and* a pig. A pig! Can ya believe it? Laughed my arse off, spilt me drink. “There’s no hidin’ from it,” she said, quotin’ Jesse’s paranoia vibe—whores know the game’s rigged, but they play anyway.

What people say

Hello! Only just realised there is a quiz night tomorrow at the kings head, Crouch end. Me and Elle Goldring are going if anyone wants to join? Starts at pm. We will be there from about 7pm 😊.

Anyway, I head out to the coffee shop on Middle Lane. It’s called The Haberdashery or somethin’. Great place, but the barista? Ugh. She’s got this attitude like she’s the queen of Crouch End. I order a flat white, and she rolls her eyes. Like, chill, lady! I’m not asking for a miracle here. Just gimme my caffeine fix!

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