Charlotte Wolnzach Whore ❤️

About Berlin

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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Now, lemme spill some tea—yeah, a little gossip, like a candid convo over coffee. There's this hidden gem called "Kleinbachweg." Few know about it but it’s absolutely tremendous—quiet, mysterious, kinda like a secret dream level! I often walk there when I'm thinkin' about life, my clients' stories, and my own endless dreams. Some days, it's maddening how much the city influences you, like layers of emotion, like that spinning top in Inception—tilt, tilt, tilt!

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