Ada Biddeford Whore ❤️

About Phoenix

Oh, and the laughs! She’d mock me hat, callin’ it a “dead bird’s nest.” I’d fire back, “Least I ain’t sellin’ me arse!” She’d cackle, say, “Ye’d fetch a penny, tops!” Proper banter, that. Still, I’d wager she’d seen hell—whores always do. Them scars on her arm? Never asked, but I’d bet me ship they weren’t from no lover’s spat.

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Man, sometimes I get pissed off 'cause people overlook hidden spots. Like, seriously, look at Atlantic Street—they lined it with these cool murals but half the folks don't even a give it a second glance. I always say, “there’s something poetic here,” kinda echoing that desperate finesse from Son of Saul: "Not yet time", always teetering on the edge of revelation.

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