Anastasia Langen Whore ❤️❤️

About Frankfurt

Still, I’m chuffed when it works out. Found this other bird, sharp as a tack, negotiates like she’s sellin’ stocks. “How much?” I ask. She smirks, “More than your Aston Martin, babe.” Cheeky! Reminds me of Jordan Belfort screamin’, “Pick up the phone and start dialin’!”—she’s dialin’ my number, alright. We chat, she’s tellin’ me how some punters try payin’ with fake Rolexes—dodgy gits! Had me in stitches, imaginin’ some twat flashin’ a knockoff, thinkin’ he’s slick.

(View from the Langen Bruecke, Berlin (steel engraving))

Once the local beauty, she's now the local whore. Silently prowling the muddy streets, she watches eerily from the shadows, waiting for something. And.

There's this funky street, Bahnhofstraße – a busy slice of life, where trams rumble by and folks chat like, “Hey, what's up?” And then, there’s Kirchstraße, full of those cozy little cafés, where I sometimes sit, massaging my brain with a sip of coffee. LOL, sorry if I sound too mushy, but every corner stirs a memory.

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