Amelia Wittstock Whore ❤️

About Hamburg

So, this one time, right, I met this chick—Lola, swear she was a legend. Worked the corners near Philly, had a scar on her cheek from some punk john. Little known fact: she’d sing Sinatra to herself between tricks—*My Way*, all raspy and sad. “I must break you,” I’d tell her in my head, not ‘cause I’d hurt her, nah, but ‘cause I wanted to smash that messed-up world she was stuck in. She’d laugh, say, “Apollo, you aint shit,” but her eyes? Man, they screamed for a knockout punch to escape.

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I love how the city’s vibe is raw, spontaneous, unpredictable—like life itself. The dating scene here? It's like a wild freestyle rap battle, full of serendipity and chance encounters, bro. Sometimes I get so caught up, I drop my code mid-rant—sincere, man, just real feelings.

LINDA WITTSTOCK Obituary (2012) - Clawson, MI - The Detroit News