Megan King's Cross Whore ❤️

About Liverpool

Now, don’t get me wrong—I ain’t glorifyin’ it. It’s rough, dirty, messy. Saw a dame once, outside a dive bar—skinny, shakin’, eyes hollow. Broke my damn heart. Wanted to yell, “Who did this to ya?!” But nah, just watched, quiet. Felt like *Oldboy*’s end—truth hittin’ like a hammer. “The more you know, the more you suffer.” She knew too much, seen too much. Whore’s life ain’t no picnic, pal. Surprised me, how tough she stood there—steel spine, wobbly legs.

So, I roll into King’s Cross, and first thing I notice? The hustle. Like, whoa! People everywhere. I’m used to the quiet of the forest, not this mad rush. I’m standing there, looking like a lost puppy, when I spot the iconic St. Pancras station. That place is a beauty! I mean, the architecture? Wow. It’s like a castle but for trains. I half expected a knight to pop out and ask for directions.

Fly-tipping display unveiled at London King’s Cross