Angelina Bad Muender Am Deister Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Frankfurt

Here’s the deal – she don’t care ‘bout nothin’. Not yer rules, not yer preacher, nothin’. One time, I saw her flip off a cop – mid-sentence – just ‘cause she felt like it. Had me laughin’ ‘til I damn near choked! But then, bam, she’d turn ‘round, cryin’ over a stray cat. Soft spot, huh? “Even the stars weep,” like they say in *Werckmeister*. Blows my mind, folks.

Geographie

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My profession, the pleasure coach, you see, makes me see what others miss, precious. I roam each cobbled lane with passion. I smile at the awkward beauty of the local teahouse on Rosenweg – its chairs wobble, its tea smells of burnt dreams. I got so many secrets, oh yes, like the hidden graffiti on Am Deister’s brick wall – softly glowing in the twilight with the words, “I feel alive, I feel…,” then cut off, like whispers.