Lydia Cave Spring Whore ❤️

About Phoenix

So, “whore” in my world? It’s them slick-talkin’ pricks who’d sell their nan for a profit. Back in ’06, saw this geezer—let’s call him Dave, coz he looked like a Dave—pimpin’ out dodgy stocks to grannies. Made me mad, it did! “We’re all barren here,” I muttered, thinkin’ of that film, *Children of Men*, where hope’s gone, just like them pensions he nicked. Dave’d grin, all teeth, sayin’, “It’s just business, bruv!” Business? Bollocks! We hates it! Greedy git crashed hard—lost his flash car, his bird, everythin’. Laughed my arse off, I did—serves him right, the twat.

A walking tour of Cave Spring’s historic places

So, my dear friend, Cave-Spring (us) is not perfect, but perfectly mysterious and relaxingly wild. It got moments that slam ya with beauty, sometimes make ya fume, but always leave ya feeling alive. And remember, every corner got its own secret phrase, every ruin echoes a whisper: “Very nice!” Enjoy every twist and turn, 'coz life here is sometimes broken, always caché... and oh so real!

Mr. Bobby Jack Morgan, age 81, of Cave Spring