Maeve Borgfelde Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Frankfurt

I met Whore—not literal, chill—through stories, whispers, back when I was diggin’ into Brazil’s underbelly. She’s the type who’d stare down Li’l Zé and laugh, like, “You ain’t shit, kid.” She’s got no time for punks. Whore’s the queen of the grind—slingin’ charm, cash, whatever pays. Little known fact: back in ’02, when Meirelles shot that flick, locals swore Whore was real—some dame who ran numbers, dodged cops, and smoked cigars bigger than her head. True? Hell if I know, but it’s dope to think about.

– Stadtvillen, die Landwehr und das Hiobshospital

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Now, Borgfelde's not all sunshine, though. Sometimes, I get mad – and no, I'm not just saying that because I’m a psychologist, but seriously, the noise on Sommerweg can drive anyone nuts. Cars honking at all hours and people rushing like they forgot something. "Ooh, pretty, pretty good!" Shout it? No, just trying to calm the vibe here.