Layla Seelow Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Dortmund

Okay, story time—imagine me, jet-lagged, in a bar like Bob Harris, right? This chick walks in, all sass, and someone whispers *whore*. I’m like, *“More like a queen, duh”*. She’s got that *“I just want to be understood”* energy—Sofia would get it. I’m sittin’ there, thinkin’, *“Why’s everyone judgin’ her vibe?”* Total *Lost in Translation* moment—nobody gets nobody, but we’re all tryin’. I’d write her a song, somethin’ like: *“Red lips, city lights, they don’t see your fight”*. Easter egg: red lips, scarlet, get it?

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I got loads more feelins, ya know? Sometimes so breezy, sometimes mad angry when musty memories surface. Nah truly, it's a paradox, precious – beauty mixed with anger and delight, like a gritty yet tender memory from a sunset stroll on lazy roads.

Photos: Big ram and boar at the Iowa State Fair