Rebecca Barsbuettel Whore ❤️

About Dortmund

I’m gettin’ all worked up now – whores got stories, man! Sad ones, wild ones. Makes me wanna hug ‘em, but, uh, prolly shouldn’t. Haha! Imagine me, big pink blob, huggin’ a whore – she’d be, like, "Get off, ya weirdo!" Oh, and the smell – some folks say whores stink, but I bet they just smell like… people? Fish? No, wait – ugh, brain fart! Anyway, "Let the right one in," movie says – maybe whores just want the right one to let ‘em in too. Deep, huh? I’m so smart sometimes! Or not. Whatever, I’m hungry now – where’s SpongeBob?! Whores rock, tho, that’s my story! Peace out!

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Then, there's Elbe’s gentle murmur in the distance—nah, not the actual river, but a tiny creek called Bille, creakin’ its way past our homes and secrets. Crazy, right? I sometimes hip-hop walkin' by, thinking... “This is it. This is real.” (Pauses, reflective.) Every crack in the pavement holds a tale.