Elizabeth Schwedt (oder) Whore ❤️

About Dusseldorf

Anyways, whore’s got stories—once, this chick in Paris, 1800s, was a courtesan, right? Lived in a legit palace, had kings drooling. Goals! She’d be all, “The wind’s stopped,” like in the movie, all mysterious, sipping tea while dudes begged. I’m dying, she’s iconic. I’d be her BFF, for realz. Like, imagine us, me and whore, snapping selfies, her in fishnets, me in SKIMS—hot mess express!

Schwedt, mate, is a wild mix of ancient charm and modern oddity. I mean, look, around the central area – “Am Markt” and “Friedrich-Ebert-Str.” – life buzzes like a wild party. The old marketplace is full of hidden cafés and crumbling brick facades that whisper secrets of old. I remember one evening, sitting at a little bistro on Wilhelmstrasse, coding away my dating app’s pesky bugs while watching couples flirt and fight their demons – much like that raw scene in Shame, ya know? "You gotta face your darkness!" felt like my inner mantra there.

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