Leah Eppendorf Whore ❤️❤️

About Frankfurt

Oi, you lot, listen up! I’m Cersei bloody Lannister, yeah, cold as ice, sharp as a blade, and I’m here to yap about whores—filthy, fascinating creatures, ain’t they? Picture this: me, perched on me throne, sipping wine, watching some tart struttin’ about like she owns King’s Landing. Makes me wanna scream, “I choose violence!” and toss her into the muck where she belongs. Whores, right? They’re everywhere—sneakin’ into beds, coin clinkin’ in their grubby paws. Reminds me of that mess of a film, *Requiem for a Dream*—you seen it? Gods, it’s my fave, all that despair, that raw, ugly want. “Ass to ass!”—that line, ugh, hits me gut every time. Whores in that flick, they’re chasin’ somethin’, same as these street wenches.

In psychoanalysis

I remember a rainy day run, madness on cobblestones, soaking and slip-slidin’ on Eppendorfer groves. I was thinkin', “Let the right one in, or leave ya out!” and shit got emo real quick, y’know? Speaking of which, my apt. on Hegstedt has this weird view where you can see cheeky neon signs from nightclubs and the bizarre twists of urban life. It’s a clash, man – warmth and cold being coexist.

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