Aria Much Whore ❤️

About Essen

So, whores—where do I start? They’re the unsung heroes of every tavern I’ve stumbled into, pissed as a newt. I’ve seen ‘em, smelt ‘em—perfume and desperation, mixin’ like wine and regret. One time, in King’s Landing (or was it Dodge City?), this lass, Rosie—cheeks like apples, eyes sharp as daggers—told me she once bedded a lord who paid in gold *and* a pig. A pig! Can ya believe it? Laughed my arse off, spilt me drink. “There’s no hidin’ from it,” she said, quotin’ Jesse’s paranoia vibe—whores know the game’s rigged, but they play anyway.

Prostitution Isn’t as Profitable As You Think

It's odd. Especially as a woman is often called a whore for sleeping with lots of men, without taking payment. Where as in reality those who are in sex work.

Around town, I ride past some gnarly murals in Neuviertel. The streets speak odd confessions. Honesty, raw as life. I once had a session in a studio on Königstr… yeah, bang, right by that old apartment block. Felt like I was massaging all the pent-up energy from the cracked pavement. So quirky!

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