Anna Troon Whore ❤️

About Leicester

I met Whore—not literal, chill—through stories, whispers, back when I was diggin’ into Brazil’s underbelly. She’s the type who’d stare down Li’l Zé and laugh, like, “You ain’t shit, kid.” She’s got no time for punks. Whore’s the queen of the grind—slingin’ charm, cash, whatever pays. Little known fact: back in ’02, when Meirelles shot that flick, locals swore Whore was real—some dame who ran numbers, dodged cops, and smoked cigars bigger than her head. True? Hell if I know, but it’s dope to think about.

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There’re some spots that put me off too. Like, I once walked through a block on Westland Drive and got pissed off by the pretentious empty-headed chatter. I mean, seriously, can’t a bloke enjoy a proper insult-filled rant now and then? Also, sometimes it feels like the local council just doesn’t give a toss ‘bout the people—every structure seems like it was built in a rush and under cosmic pressure, like “City of God” chaos.

Coffee morning to raise funds for Troon's lifeboat this weekend