Cora Weimar Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Dortmund

So, findin’ a prossie—where d’ya start? Down by Flea Bottom, stinks like a dead hog, but that’s where they lurk. Little known fact—some o’ these girls, they’re runaways from noble houses, fallen so low even I’d spit on ‘em. Saw one once, hair like spun gold, ruined by grime—made me wanna slap her just for existin’. “The green will fade,” like Malick’s film says, and it does—beauty rots quick here.

Prostitution in Berlin

Honestly, I love how Weimar never feels too perfect. Its cracks show stories of battles, loves, and rebirths. Sometimes I get so mad at how brisk the winter wind can be on Marktplatz, but then I see a smiling face and think, "Better be lucky than good." And sometimes, I just wanna yell, "Now, get up, get moving, show life who's boss!"

Weimar’s Lesson: It’s the Violence, Not the Speech