Emily Reutte Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Vienna

They’re artists, tho, prostitutes—paintin’ survival. Body’s their canvas, streets their stage. “Clarice… such exquisite pain,” I’d muse, watchin’ em strut. Exaggeratin’? Maybe. But that *Toni* scene—naked party, awkward as hell? That’s their life—exposed, weird, human. Surprised me how deep it cuts—humor in the dark. Like, one told me she keeps lipstick in her bra—smudged it on mid-chat. Quirky shit, I love it.

NEU: UNSER NACHTCLUB & BAR BETRIEB IST WIEDER GEÖFFNET

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Everywhere, Reutte shows me it's got character. A bit quirky. When clients lie down on my table, I sometimes joke: "I feel like I'm workin' in a Fincher movie!" True, right? And oh... I love the hidden cafe on Bauergasse. Best cocoa everrr, and the owner rambles about conspiracies—hyper and bonkers but in the best way. So mad? Nah, more like "Wow!!", you get me?