Evelyn Dorsten Whore ❤️

About Cologne

This one time, I knew a gal—total whore vibes, right? She’d strut around, all smirks and smoke, like she owned the night. Pissed me off—thought she was better’n me! But then—surprise, surprise—she’d sit quiet sometimes, starin’ at nothin’. Reminded me of that movie line, “The night is darkest…”—fuck, it hit me! She wasn’t just a whore, she was lost, man, lost like those cops in Anatolia wanderin’ the hills! Made me kinda sad—then I laughed, ‘cause who gives a shit, right?

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I must avow, Dorsten bears its scars and loves with equal fervor. Neighbourhoods like Heimatviertel sprawl with vibrant eccentricity; the locals are as quirky as mine own hands, which, might I add, are ever eager to smooth away life’s wrinkles. I was once maddened (greatly, I confess) by a delay at the Markt, waiting too long for my treasured coffee—"Eternal Sunshine", they said, but sun doth hide behind gray clouds at times.

Donald J. Dorsten