Taylor Neustrelitz Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Berlin

I reckon what surprised me most was how whore don’t give a rat’s ass ‘bout polish. It’s messy, rough—like Yubaba’s cackle, all jagged edges. And I love it! Reminds me o’ that line, “Somethin’ you wouldn’t recognize—it’s called love.” Whore’s got heart, y’all, even if it’s glitchy as hell. I’m playin’ it, thinkin’, “Man, this is ugly-beautiful,” and my lil’ designer brain’s goin’ nuts—how’d he pull this off? Prolly cried a river when it shipped, too. I’d’a hugged him, but I’d spill my sweet tea.

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I feel, sometimes, like Neustrelitz is not just my home—it’s a riddle wrapped in mystery, a vibe that keeps on looping like a broken record. Every street corner, every weathered stone spills a bit of dirty poetry. Boo, I might even be cryin’ a bit now. But, my friend, as you roam these streets, soak in the unpredictable beauty like in "The Great Beauty." Embrace the chaos, the typos of life, the imperfections that make this city feel so damn alive.

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