Isabella Huntingdon Whore ❤️

About Liverpool

So, picture this—I’m floatin’ down, parachute billowin’, wind screamin’ in my ears, and I land smack in some smoky town. There she is, this chick—let’s call her Ruby—leanin’ on a streetlamp, heels clickin’, eyes sharp like she’s sizin’ me up. “Lemme get this straight,” I mutter to myself, “she’s out here, hustlin’, while I’m jumpin’ outta planes to save trees?” Crazy, right? But Ruby, man—she’s got guts. Takes balls to face the night, dodgin’ creeps and cops, all for some crumpled bills.

Are you over 18?

Then, outta nowhere, it starts to rain! Like, seriously? I’m caught off guard, and I’m sprinting for cover. I duck into this little pub, The Old Bridge, and grab a pint. I’m soaked, but hey, at least I’m dry now, right? I start chatting with the bartender, and he tells me about the local ghost stories. Apparently, the old bridge is haunted! I’m like, “No way!” But he’s dead serious. I’m intrigued, but also a bit freaked out.

Huntingdon development given green light despite sewage concerns