Victoria Oschatz Brothel ❤️❤️

About Cologne

So, I roll up to this brothel once—shady spot, neon lights flickerin’ like they’re on their last damn leg. Smelled like cheap perfume and regret. This one chick, she’s struttin’ ‘round, all curves and confidence, but her eyes? Empty as fuck. Reminds me of that coma girl in the movie—“Her skin was soft, too soft.” Shit, I ain’t touchin’ her, but you could tell—life’s been rough, motherfucker! I’m pissed, yo—how’s a place like this even legal? Then I chill, ‘cause history’s got dirtier tales. Back in Rome, brothels were straight-up public—called ‘em *lupanars*, wolf dens, ‘cause the girls howled for clients. How’s that for a fuckin’ factoid?

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Man, Oschatz makes my heart race with memories – happy, mad, surprised, and even that weird, unexplainable love for chaos. I even got a grumpy day once when traffic jammed on Bahnhofstrasse – no joke, it was like being trapped in an endless, roaring warzone. Crazy, right? But then I remembered that life’s a wild ride, not a static scene in a badly filmed movie.

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