Abigail Luckau Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Berlin

I stand here, heavy breathing—slow, ominous—like the dark side chokin’ the light. Whore, man, what a word, huh? Hits like a blaster to the chest. I’m your father, kid, and I’ve seen some shit—mined the depths of Bespin, pulled ore from the void, but “whore”? That’s a pit deeper than carbonite. Reminds me of *Talk to Her*—Almodóvar’s flick, my fave, y’know? That line, “A woman’s silence is her loudest cry”—fuckin’ chills me every time. Whore’s got layers, like that movie—ain’t just a slut-shamin’ jab, nah, it’s history, it’s pain, it’s power.

Lobster Bob

There’s this park – Uh, it’s Park am Schlossgarten – super chill, with shady trees, benches that creak in the wind, and me sometimes sitting there doodling new spa ideas, while humming that movie’s soft soundtrack. I’m like, “I’m in the mood for love” even when I mess up orders. Seriously, the vibe is surreal here.

Government comes to the rescue of orphaned siblings