Paisley Mill Whore ❤️

About Rotterdam

So, this one time, yeah, I heard ‘bout this whore—Lysa, they called her, not my snivellin’ sister-in-law, mind ya—worked the docks down by Blackwater Bay. Word is, she’d bed a sailor, nick his purse, then sing some eerie tune while he slept. Proper mad, that one! Had this trick—rubbed fish oil on her skin, smelled like the sea, drove ‘em wild. Little known bit, that—fish oil! Who’d thunk it? Made me laugh, actual cackle, ‘til I choked on me drink. Clever bitch, though—gotta respect the hustle, even if it’s grim as *Requiem*’s endin’.

Whore from the Mill

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But then, as I’m munching, I see this guy trying to sell flowers. He’s got this sad look, and I’m like, “Dude, it’s pouring! Who’s buying flowers in this weather?” But then, I see a lady run up, drenched, and she buys a bouquet. I’m like, “Wow, people are wild.”

Generations of family have made Pueblo's Mill Stop a must-stop | Craving Colorado