Maeve Seefeld Whore ❤️

About Munich

“Move, move!” like Saul’s camp, she struts fast. Tricksy, slippin’ through alleys, dodgin’ the law. Wears red, always red—blood-stain vibes, precious. Stinks of cheap gin, sweat, and lies. Once saw her nick a sailor’s purse—ha! Laughed ‘til me ribs hurt, clever wench. “What do you see?” Saul’d ask, grim-like. I see filth, beauty, mess—whore’s life, yesss. Split me head, tho—hate her, pity her.

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Oh, and did I mention the quirky neighborhood of Alte Gasse? Cobblestone streets twist around like runaway thoughts. Rumor has it, there’s an old brick building—No. 7—that’s been the backdrop for countless clandestine rendezvous. I swear I once saw a couple, caught mid-kiss, as if performing a forbidden ballet to the strains of The Pianist’s haunting melody. “I'm a soldier of love!” I half-joked then, mixing my own drama into that bittersweet moment.

Mark Seefeld Obituary (1953 - 2021) - Madison, WI - Madison.com