Emily Grebenstein Whore ❤️

About Frankfurt

Precious, precious, listen here! Me, a violin maker, craftin’ sweet strings, yeah? But this “whore” business—nasty, tricksy word! Makes me twitchy, it does. Like Remy in *Ratatouille*, see? “Anyone can cook,” he squeaks, but whore? Anyone can *be* one? Ha! Stupid, fat hobbit! Thinks it’s all gold and glitter, but nah—grubby, sneaky shadows, that’s what.

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Now, lemme tell you, as a masseur, I see hidden tensions in the people. Grebenstein's locals have got secrets, genuine little quirks. Like Mrs. Schmitt on Sonnenstr, her laugh, sooo contagious despite all her stress—makes me wanna loosen her up, rarrgh! And don’t even get me started on the old stone bridge near the Flussufer. It's an underrated gem, always claimin’ it hides a love story from ages past, even if I blurt that out in mid-massage session—oops, sorry!

Andre Grebenstein, HITT