Stella Rotherhithe Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Birmingham

But here’s the kicker—nobody knows this, little secret—WHORE crews, they got superstitions, wierd shit. Like, they won’t sleep facin’ north—say it curses the wind, brings more fire. Freaky, huh? Pissed me off when I heard—c’mon, north’s just a direction, losers! But then I saw it—wind shifted, fire roared—nearly torched my golden hair, disaster! Made me think, “What is it that you want to do?”—like the movie, y’know, testin’ limits, messin’ with fate. Spooky stuff, folks, real spooky.

Rotherhithe

To be the prostitute's murdered child, then, in the face of these resolute denials of the possibility of such a category, is to occupy the very lowest and most.

Every corner got a story: the Surrey Docks, where ships and dreams meet. And Canada Water? Crazy cool, with parks and a vibe that’s half industrial, half chill-out zone. Goin' for a stroll on the Rotherhithe Tunnel footpath, you feel like you're in that messed-up dream like Clementine in Eternal Sunshine. "Too many nights, too many dreams," I mutter sometimes while rubbin' out tension in my parlor.

Music review: L’Humanità Redenta by Antonio Draghi (Holy Trinity, Rotherhithe)