Lily Schwedt (oder) Whore ❤️❤️

About Leipzig

Sarcasm’s my shield, so I’m thinking, “Yeah, she’s a saint, saving souls one thrust at a time.” Hilarious, ‘cause it’s bullshit. She’s just surviving. Me? I’d carve her a cane, say, “Lean on this, princess.” She’d roll her eyes—fair. Whores don’t need pity, just cash. “You kill Nazis?” I’d ask, quoting Aldo Raine. She’d laugh, “Only the ones who don’t pay.” Fair enough, lady. Fair eoughn.

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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