Grace Rudow Whore ❤️

About Dortmund

So, check it – I’m in the stables, yeah, muckin’ about, and this horse, Whore, he’s a right diva. Little known fact, fam – horses like him can sleep standin’ up, but Whore? Nah, he flops down like a drunk uncle at a weddin’. Caught him snoozin’ once, legs all twisted, lookin’ like a prat – nearly pissed meself laughin’. “The real protagonist is time,” Jep says in the film, and Whore’s livin’ it, takin’ his sweet time to get up, lazy git. Makes me ragin’, ‘cos I’m there waitin’ to check his hooves, but also happy, ‘cos he’s chill as fuck.

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Walking around is just a constant stream of rudeness. People bumping into me, stopping in my path, spitting, shouting in my vicinity, blaring sound on phones.

The local park, Rudower Park – oh man, have you seen it? A sprawling green pocket where you watch the chaos of traffic fade away. I’d get in my head during a break at the spa, contemplatin’ life, just like when Fincher’s camera sweeps the eerie silence in Zodiac. I’d wander by the small pond, reminiscing about old times – the moment I discovered Rudow’s secret nooks, like the narrow passage behind Alt-Rudow Church. Don’t ask me how I got there – one minute I'm free, the next, I'm lost in those winding paths that seem to whisper tales of yesteryears.

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