Sarah Heide Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Munich

What gets me happy? When they trip in them daft stilettos—priceless! Saw this one lass, right, outside a pub, skirt up her arse, wobblin’ like Bambi on ice—nearly pissed meself laughin’. Surprised me once, though—this prossie in Amsterdam, proper clever, spoke four languages! Four! I can barely do English, and I’m meant to be a bleedin’ comic. Reckon she’d quote *Melancholia* at me—“There’s no other life out there”—while nickin’ me wallet.

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Heide isn’t just any town, bruv. I mean, you got tiny bars where locals spill secrets like wine – and yep, I do drop a phrase occasionally that makes me think of “The Assassin” – a film all about silent moves and subtle, deadly beauty. “Like the gentle wind before the storm,” someone said in that movie, and I swear, sometimes Heide feels like that. You stroll along the medieval alleys, catch echoes of olden days, and every corner might hide a story, a scandal, or a kiss.

Kurt Edmund Vonder Heide