Emma Bennewitz Whore ❤️

About Dusseldorf

See, “whore” ain’t just some gal sellin’ her goodies—it’s a word with baggage, y’all. Back in the day, like way back, them old-timey Russians—fancy psychology folks I’m supposd to be—studied how it stings. They said it’s a slap to the soul, a label that sticks like gum in your hair. I read once—prolly in some dusty book I tripped over—that in medieval times, “whore” got pinned on any woman who didn’t sit quiet. Ain’t that a hoot? Makes me wanna holler, “Well, bless their hearts, they’d hate me then!”

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I stroll near the River Elbe-like flows, the babbling water blends with the town’s heartbeat. The Elbenpromenade is a chill zone – often, after a long day, I wander there with my thoughts, like "Yi Yi: A One and a Two" echoing in my head: "Our lives endure like the river, flowing, unstoppable, and full of wonder." Crazy, right?

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