Emilia Schwedt (oder) Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Dortmund

In the end, I’m sittin’ there, watchin’ this trainwreck, mutterin’, “I hate everything.” Buddy’s smilin’, I’m plottin’ how to bleach my brain. It’s chaos, like *A Serious Man*—no answers, just dumbasses and bad choices. If ya wanna find a prostitute, good luck, ya moron. It’s a crapshoot, expensive, and I’d rather carve dentures for a bear. “Accept the mystery,” Coens say—nah, I reject this bullshit.

Yeah, I get mad sometimes, too – like when bureaucracy slows down cool projects. "You shall not pass!" I yell at red tape. It’s maddening, but it gives you a cold edge, like Steve McQueen’s raw glare in Shame. Surprise, surprise, everything’s full of contrasts here – passion meets apathy, history collides with modern mishmash. Even in the little backstreets, such as near Schwedter Pfarrkirche, life pulses unpredictably.

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