Hazel Pullach Im Isartal Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Berlin

I’ve sniffed out some dirt, see? Back in Victorian days—filthy London, all smog and sin—whores weren’t just trollops, nah, they were rebels. Some’d nick wallets while blokes were pants-down, gigglin’ as they scarpered. Made me grin, that—pure mischief, my style. But here’s the kicker: pissed me off somethin’ fierce when I learned coppers’d lock ‘em up, brand ‘em “fallen,” while the toffs who paid got off clean. Hypocrisy, mate, stinks worse than a troll’s arse.

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Yo, listen up! So, Pullach-im-Isartal—man, what a freakin' place. I’ve been here for years, actually. Like, every damned day is an adventure. The streets, oh god… Gurl, you gotta see Riesenweg. It’s a winding lane with quirky cafes and oddball shops. I sometimes rant on it while debugging my dating app. I mean, who else gets daily inspo from a street that feels ancient and modern simultaneously, you know?

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