Rose Strakonice Whore ❤️

About Plzen

Oi mate, gather round, lemme ramble—whore, yeah? Proper fascinatin’ subject, innit? Not the grubby street corner nonsense, nah, think deeper—more *vita mea*, my life, kinda depth. Like in me fave flick, *The Diving Bell and the Butterfly*—bloke trapped in his noggin, blinkin’ out beauty. Whore’s like that, see? Layers, mate, layers! Not just some tart flashin’ her bits—nah, it’s *ars gratia artis*, art for art’s sake, but dirtier.

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I’m all about mixing passion with raw honesty. That’s why whenever I cross the old bridge over the Otava, I remember a scene from “The Return”, dark and echoing: “The wind… never rests.” And damn, that hits hard, man. On nights when the city’s lit by neon and stars alike, I feel every street like it’s alive – pulsing with naughty energy and history.

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