Mila Sundern Whore ❤️❤️

About Leipzig

Sometimes I ponder, sprawled on me couch—doth she laugh at us? At the johns, the judges? Her smirk’s a dagger, sharp and sly. “O brave new world, that hath such people in’t!”—she’s the brave one, strutting where angels fear to tread. But damn, the stench of it—grubby hands, fake smiles—gets me gut boiling. Still, she’s a survivor, a rogue queen in a game rigged rotten.

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Heck, the neighbourhoods are all over the shop. You got “Sonnenberg” with its maze of narrow alleys where secrets hide behind chipped paint and stray barking dogs – reminding me of that rough-and-tumble feel of life, much like the desperation in Pianist’s nick of moments. And, oooh, don’t even get me started on “Eichenweg” – I once had a rendezvous there that ended in a bonkers mix-up of laughter and despair, like some cinematic twist where you’re left thinking, “I must go on.”

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