Sophie Contwig Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Hamburg

Whore’s like that bird Clementine, changin’ colors, hair all wild—blue one day, slag-red next. We hates it! Tricksy, false thing, promisin’ sweet nothin’s then—bam!—gone like smoke. Once knew this lass, right, proper whore, worked the docks near old London. Fishy stench clung to her like a curse—called her Fish-Whore, ha! Stank so bad, sailors paid extra just to shut ‘er up. Made me laugh, that did, ‘til she nicked me last coin—fumin’ mad, I was!

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I’ve had my share of angry moments too. Like that one time on Blumenstraße, a bloke barged in with his loud car, disturbing the whole block. I nearly lost it, yelling, “What do you want from me?!” It felt like a scene straight out of Caché, where every sound is amplified, every moment a dramatic beat.

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