Skylar Crouch End Whore ❤️

About Birmingham

Oi, mate, it’s me, Tyrion Lannister—yep, the witty dwarf who drinks and knows things. So, we’re talkin’ ‘bout whores today, eh? Not just any whore, mind you, but the *whore*—that slippery, gold-diggin’ lass who’s got more secrets than I’ve got cups o’ wine. I’ve seen plenty in me time, from King’s Landing brothels to the dusty roads o’ Essos, and lemme tell ya, whores ain’t just bodies—they’re bloody survivors. Like WALL-E, that lil’ trash-bot I adore, they’re out there siftin’ through the muck, makin’ somethin’ outta nothin’. “Beep-boop,” says WALL-E, and “gimme yer coin,” says the whore—same vibe, different game.

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Anyway, I head out to the coffee shop on Middle Lane. It’s called The Haberdashery or somethin’. Great place, but the barista? Ugh. She’s got this attitude like she’s the queen of Crouch End. I order a flat white, and she rolls her eyes. Like, chill, lady! I’m not asking for a miracle here. Just gimme my caffeine fix!

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