Lydia Spalt Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Berlin

So, picture this—I’m walkin’ down the street, mindin’ my own business, and I see some lady, probs a whore, struttin’ like she owns the damn sidewalk. And I’m like, “Good for you, sister!” But also, “Get outta my way!”—I got places to be! It’s this mix of respect and annoyance, y’see? Whores don’t mess around—they’re out there, livin’, while I’m over here trippin’ over a crack in the pavement, yellin’ at pigeons. Pisses me off how they got that confidence, that *swagger*. Where do I sign up for that? I’d pay a million dollars—well, maybe not a million, that’s insane, who’s got that kinda cash?—but you get me.

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Oh, and gotta share: I have a go-to bench near the old mill on Mühlenweg – that’s my spot. Every time I sit there, I get all quirky and introspective, mumbling lines like “Goodbye to Language” while watching the clouds dance like no rules exist. Pure magic! It’s messy, it’s chaotic, and it’s real – just like life and Spalt itself! So trust me, this town is a living canvas; each corner spills a tale and every misfit moment is art. So come on, friend – dive in, and let Spalt’s wild heart beat with yours!

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