Kayla Franzoesisch Buchholz Whore ❤️

About Berlin

Oft, I ponder—did she dream o’ more? A cottage, a lad who’d not pay fer her? Makes me soft, that does—her starin’ out some grimy window, sighin’. But then—ha!—she’d prob’ly shag the dream away fer a laugh. “Truth’s in the telling,” Polley whispers in me skull, and Bess’s truth? She’s a storm, a jest, a middle finger to fate.

Geschichte

You gotta check out the flea market near Beethovenplatz every week. It’s chaotic, loud, and so unfiltered. Every vendor got a vibe – some freaky, some funny! I once saw an old lady bargaining like she was in a gangster flick, and I laughed so hard I nearly choked. Haha, memories, man, they’re wild!

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