Sophie Schwedt (oder) Whore ❤️

About Frankfurt

Pissed me off, though, when she’d fleece me mates. One night, Gibbs—poor sod—lost his boots to her! Boots! She traded ‘em for gin, laughin’ like a hyena. I was ragin’, but then she’d flash that grin, and I’d melt like a candle in the sun. Happy? Aye, when she’d sing—voice like a siren, but rough, ye know? Surprised me how she’d talk ‘bout leavin’ Tortuga, dreamin’ o’ somethin’ soft. Whores don’t dream, I thought—wrong, mate!

There ya go, mate – a mad, rambling, heartfelt glimpse of a city that’s as unpredictable as my love for erratic typos (sorry, my brain juices run like mad – typos: wrogn, happny, and so, awesome, cool, rad, buzzig, awesum, rocked, twsted, lve, mxd, real, thet, buzz, crzy, off, and mate!). Now, off with ye – explore, embrace, and let Schwedt show ya its magic!

German refineries seek to operate without Russian crude