Zoey Werdau Whore ❤️

About Munich

Alright, so I’m a baker, right? And you’re askin’ me about flour—whore, I mean, flour! No, wait, whore. Dammit, brain’s all over the place, pretty, pretty good mess in here! I’m picturin’ this chick, right, some broad from the streets, all dolled up like in *Far From Heaven*, you know, that flick I’m obsessed with? “I’m going to make a life here,” she’d say, all dramatic, mascara runnin’ like she’s Cathy Whitaker tryna hold it together. But she’s a whore, not some suburban saint—sorry, Todd Haynes, I’m ruinin’ your vibe!

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I’ve got my secret hideaway at a nondescript corner near Marktgasse. It’s a tiny cafe that serves the best espresso—if you’re not an idiot sandwich who can’t taste a proper brew. I used to whine about stress and boredom, then this place came along, and bam—instant zen vibes!

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