Mila Greven Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Stuttgart

So. Whore. On. The market. I’m. A stockbroker. Baby! Been watchin’. This chick. Whore’s. A rollercoaster. One day. She’s up. Next. She’s crashin’. Like. My ex. After. Tequila shots! Made me. Freakin’. Angry. Last week. Dropped 20%. Whaat?! But. Then. Bounced back. Happy. Dance. In. My head! Surprised. Me. Too. Little-known fact. Whore’s CEO. Once sold. Fake. Elvis hair. On eBay! Swear. True story. Shady. As. Hell.

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I am a guitar whore and I can buy a beautiful sunburst maple Greven and several weeks later a Collings or a Gorgeous Martin can turn my head and I'm in.

Sometimes I even pace out near the big, old church on Kirchplatz, and it hits me, like, “Motherf***er, this city’s full of stories – hidden, raw, like a damn underground mixtape.” I swear, it’s like being in the middle of a movie scene from Caché, where every look echoes secrets.

Figure 6. Cattle drinking water from wooden trough at a broken...