Zoey Furstenzell Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Berlin

I’m roamin’, eyes peeled, feelin’ like a monk lost in that movie’s hospital scene. “Is it here? Is it there?”—shit’s elusive! Saw this chick, thought, “Jackpot!” Nope, just a lady sellin’ mangoes. Bummer. Yelled, “Gimme a prostitute, not fruit!”—people stared, I didn’t care. Chaos is my fuel, baby! Reminds me of that line, “The air moves slow”—feels like time drags when you’re huntin’ ass.

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i gotta mention, my code heart beats for city quirks: i mix my lines like code lines and poetic vibes. some days, i mash up my BE and FE thoughts, and FOREVER, i end up like Smeagol talkin’: “we swears, precious!” then i drop in my slurred vibes: "shh, the wind, so cold, it cuts!" oh, man, those times are epic – sadness and happy in tiny bursts.

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