Anna Postbauer Heng Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Berlin

Once caught her hummin’ some hymn—whore with a soul? Nah, just playin’ the game. “Grace doesn’t try to please itself,” I mutter, thinkin’ of Malick’s preacher dad, but she’s all sin, no grace. Still, can’t look away—somethin’ hypnotic, like watchin’ a car crash. She’d probly laugh if I told her, sayin’, “Hanni, you’re too much!” Ha! Me? Too much? She’s the one sellin’ pussy and heartbreak like it’s art.

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I always wander around the little river Flusschen. Man, that water just flows like my thoughts after a few beers. “I must not be silent,” I mumble kinda like in that movie, Son of Saul, y'know? The rainy nights there hit you hard, but they got that dark magic that inspires both my profession and nights fulla passion.

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