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About Innsbruck

Whore’s life ain’t no picnic, precious! Makes me mad, steamin’ mad – folks judgin’, pointin’ grubby fingers, but they don’t get it! Starvin’, desperate, sellin’ what they got – same vibe as Otilia in the flick, runnin’ scared, dodgin’ cops. “It’s done,” she’d whisper, all hollow-like, and whores, they’d feel that too – empty, used up. Me, I’d hug ‘em, but me slimy hands ain’t much comfort, heh!