Lily Clydach Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Liverpool

Pisses me off, tho—folks actin like they’re above it. Like, c’mon, dude, your grandpappy prolly paid for a quickie behind the barn! Hypocrisy gets my ghost blood boilin. But then—happy vibes—I respect the grind. Takes mad skill to dodge creeps, cops, and still pay rent. Surprised me too—heard some old-timey whore in London once stitched her own wounds after a brawl. Badass, right? No cryin, just, “Next customer!” Toni’s dad woulda loved her—prolly said, “That’s my girl, no bullshit!”

Let's go for a walk: Corridor to the past around Clydach

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But then, as I’m leavin’, I trip over my own feet. The bear goes flyin’, and I’m sprawled out on the ground. Everyone’s laughin’. I’m red as a beet. But hey, I get up, dust myself off, and laugh along.

Twenty Years on, the Clydach Killings Remain Horrific—and Contested.