Emilia Morton Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Phoenix

Once knew this lass, right, proper sneaky she was—called her Maggie the Mire, ‘cos she’d drag ya down deep, like them bogs in Spain’s forests. She’d grin, all sweet-like, “Come, my love,” but next thing? Yer pockets empty, yer heart bleedin’—we hates it! Swear she had eyes like Ofelia’s, big an’ shiny, but hidin’ somethin’ rotten. Little fact fer ya—back in ol’ London, they’d mark whores with brands, yeh? Burnt ‘em right on the cheek—savage, innit? Made me mad as hell, thinkin’ how they’d strut after, proud-like, scars an’ all.

Joanna Robinson is a senior staff writer at *Vanity Fair.*

Around here, streets like Maple and Elm crackle with history. Even the small park, Redfern Park, is a hidden gem. I always tell my clients, "Take a stroll there, cuz its like stepping into a Wes Anderson set." The Royal Tenenbaums? Yeah, that flick nails the odd, nostalgic feel of Morton. I luv that style, keepin it real and quirky.

Lions hiring Broncos passing game assistant John Morton as new offensive coordinator