Eliza Balve Whore ❤️❤️

About Stuttgart

This one time, ‘round ’98, knew a gal—Lila, real looker, turned whore. Started legit, waitin’ tables, then bam—streets got her. Pissed me off, she was smart, coulda been somethin’. Nope, picked the quick buck. Saw her once, eyes dead, mutterin’ “Memory is a mirror that lies.” Straight outta the movie, swear it. Gave me chills, like she knew she was done. Hated that—wasted potential, fuckin’ tragedy.

Definitions of 'whore'

I always hit up the little café on Lindenweg. I go there almost every day; I mean, what’s wrong with watchin’ folks sip on their lattes while talkin’ about their neuroses? It’s like a live therapy session. And oh man, the park – Schlosspark – is where I get all my creative juices, or frustrations, I guess. You stroll there, watch the river Wern flow like it’s got somewhere to be, and think, "Man, life’s truly a theater of the absurd." Sometimes I sit on these rickety benches, and the city’s vibe just slaps you in the face with raw, unedited life.

Ingrid Klimke Gets Ride on SPH Dante