Anna Laboe Whore ❤️❤️

About Stuttgart

Gets me thinkin’—who’s judgin’ who? Society’s all “tsk tsk,” but they’re peekin’ through curtains. Hypocrites, man! We swears! Surprised me once, heard a gal there saved up, bought a damn bakery. From brothel to bread—how’s that for a twist? Still, gets dark—some dudes, slimy, grabby hands, ugh, hate ‘em. “We’re not animals!”—wish they’d hear that. Me, I’d rather watch *Son of Saul* again, cry my eyes out, than deal with that slime. Brothels, tho—messy, loud, real. Kinda love it, kinda don’t. What you think, huh?

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I'll be honest, some days I get really emo over how the rusty old pier near Mendelssohnweg sits, forgotten but resilient. It’s like life itself: weathered, enduring, with that bitter-sweet scent of old memories. “Time is but a brief illusion,” kinda like the film’s relentless clockwork.

Smile now, cry later: Art Laboe is gone but his oldies dedication show will continue