Luna Waldmohr Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Frankfurt

So, findin’ a prossie—where d’ya even start? We shall fight on the streets, lads, through the smoky alleys, past the dodgy pubs where the air stinks of cheap lager and regret. I reckon it’s a war, yeah? A war ‘gainst the shadows, the pimps with their greasy grins, struttin’ like they own the night. Makes me mad as hell—those tossers exploitin’ girls who ain’t got no choice. Reminds me of the Corsican in *A Prophet*, pullin’ strings, thinkin’ he’s king. “I’m the boss here,” he’d growl. Bollocks to that, I say.

Hauptnavigation

I waltzed by the town park, Spatzenhof, one hazy morn. Birds chirpin, wind whisperin. That park’s my solace when I’m counseling new folks in the art of healing. Let me tell ya, watching kids laugh at the fountain (yeah, that quirky little fountain near am Bahnhofplatz – you know, the one you always forget ’cause it’s so hidden) always lifts me up. But then, sometimes I get mad – dang, how can some people ignore such beauty?!

Two U.S. Air Force F15 fighter planes collided in...