Fatima Crouch End Whore ❤️❤️

About Manchester

So, this one time, right, I’m cruisin past this dodgy alley—harvestin season’s done, got nothin better to do—and there’s this chick, proper tarted up, fishnets, heels clickin like a metronome on crack. She’s yellin at some punter, “You think I’m cheap, huh?!” I’m like, bloody hell, love, ya screamin loud enough to wake the crows! Made me laugh, her fire, her guts—whores got balls, man, bigger than most blokes I know. Reminds me of that line from *Caché*—“I’m not guilty, you are!”—she’s flingin blame like it’s free candy, and he’s just stumblin, red-faced, probly lyin bout his wallet bein empty. Everybody lies, right?

Crouch End

Crouch slow walking. Moving only small movements. Being aggressive (I'm not very good at fair gunfights). These fights tend to be on choke.

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!

Independent short films from around the world coming to Crouch End