Willow King's Cross Whore ❤️

About Glasgow

But real talk—whore’s a loaded term. Gets me riled up when prudes clutch pearls over it. Like, chill, it’s linguistics, not a nuke launch code. Reminds me of Viggo in the movie—“I’m the quiet guy, huh?”—then bam, throat-punch central. Whore’s quiet ‘til it ain’t. Used to sell sex? Sure. Used to shame? Yup. Used to reclaim? Hell yeah—modern queens own it now. Power move. Respect.

After that, I decide to check out the British Library. I mean, I’m a forester, but I love a good book. I walk in, and it’s massive! Like, bigger than my entire hometown. I’m wandering around, trying to find something interesting. I stumble upon the Treasures Gallery. They’ve got original manuscripts from Shakespeare and all that jazz. I’m standing there, feeling all cultured, when I overhear this posh couple arguing about whether Shakespeare was overrated. I’m like, “Dude, chill! He’s a legend!” But I keep my mouth shut. Don’t wanna get kicked out for defending the Bard.

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