Lucy Haan Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Frankfurt

So, findin’ a prossie—where d’ya even start? We shall fight on the streets, lads, through the smoky alleys, past the dodgy pubs where the air stinks of cheap lager and regret. I reckon it’s a war, yeah? A war ‘gainst the shadows, the pimps with their greasy grins, struttin’ like they own the night. Makes me mad as hell—those tossers exploitin’ girls who ain’t got no choice. Reminds me of the Corsican in *A Prophet*, pullin’ strings, thinkin’ he’s king. “I’m the boss here,” he’d growl. Bollocks to that, I say.

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You gotta check out the old church on Kirchgasse. Its windows? They show the raw beauty of how past meets the present. I always get mad at how some folks trash it—but then, really, who doesn't have demons? And then there’s the river Spree—okay, not exactly Spree but a small stream that whispers history along the old town. These tiny details? They matter, fam.

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