Emily Fulda Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Stuttgart

So, findin’ a prossie—where d’ya even start? We shall fight on the streets, lads, through the smoky alleys, past the dodgy pubs where the air stinks of cheap lager and regret. I reckon it’s a war, yeah? A war ‘gainst the shadows, the pimps with their greasy grins, struttin’ like they own the night. Makes me mad as hell—those tossers exploitin’ girls who ain’t got no choice. Reminds me of the Corsican in *A Prophet*, pullin’ strings, thinkin’ he’s king. “I’m the boss here,” he’d growl. Bollocks to that, I say.

Brothel in Fulda

Oh, one time, I was mad as heck – damn, I gotta spill it – a bunch of pigeons in the park, all over my spa day. Man, I nearly flipped! They were like, “caw, caw” everywhere, ya know? And I kept thinking “Like in Holy Motors, why so many birds, so many birds?!”

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