Leah Frohnau Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Cologne

Alright, mate, let’s talk whore. Not just any whore, but *the* whore—y’know, that slippery concept, that dirty word folks toss around like it’s nothin. Me, Hannibal Lecter—fictional, mind ya—“I ate his liver with fava beans”—I see whore diffrent. Deeper. Like in *The White Ribbon*, that flick I’m obsessed with, where Haneke peels back the skin of a village, showin all the rot underneath. Whore’s like that—hidden in plain sight, festerin, fuckin fascinatin.

Berlin: Frohnau

Frohnau got these quirky streets – check out Lindenweg and Nordallee. Bruv, the houses be proper old-school art deco, but with a twist. I walks past Am Schloßpark and think, “Is it ‘cos I is black?” – nah, mate, it's just mad diverse energy. Sometimes I feel like the city’s got this pulse, a heartbeat that reminds me of chaotic hope, like, "This is happening, no one oughta be surprised." Ain’t that wild?

Berkeley Talks: The rise and destruction of the Jewish fashion industry