Audrey Guestrow Whore ❤️❤️

About Berlin

Whore’s a riddle, innit? Sneaky, slippin’ through alleys – my precious! – nobody knows her real name. Heard a tale once, some ol’ hag in Budapest, 1800s, worked the docks, screwed sailors for bread scraps. Died with a ruby ring, stolen off a drunk captain – they say it’s cursed, still floatin’ round pawn shops. True? Dunno, but creepy as hell! Gets me laughin’, thinkin’ she’d smirk at that, puffin’ a cig, “Nice try, suckers!”

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I often wander to the lakeside, oh yes yes – the Glimmersee. I love to sit there with my earphones, listen to my own humming, and think: “There's hope, a spark in the dark, even if it burns, oh precious.” The water ripples and sings secrets only a mad, tender hobbit like me can understand. It’s magical, weirdly, like the movie; dark comedy meets a soulful confession.

An early-riser bear wakes up two weeks early from his winter hibernation