Elizabeth King's Cross Whore ❤️❤️

About Manchester

Makes me mad, tho—lads treat her like trash, callin’ her slag ‘n’ that. She’s more’n that, innit? Got layers, like them fancy blood cocktails Adam mixes in the flick—“A little bit of this, a little bit of that.” Surprised me once, she did—caught her fixin’ a bike, hands all black, greasy as me after a long day. Proper fit, I was gobsmacked—thought, “She’s one of us, my precious!” Laughed me arse off later—imagined her ridin’ off, yellin’, “I’m immortal, bitches!” like some undead queen.

Man, what a day! I’m a forester, right? You know, trees, woods, all that chill stuff. But today? Today was a whole different beast. I found myself in King’s Cross, UK, and lemme tell ya, it was a wild ride.

Is King's Cross trying to make me cry? This departure board plan is frankly sadistic