Aaliyah Falkenstein Whore ❤️❤️

About Berlin

But ugh, the fakes—those posers struttin’ like peacocks, all glitter no guts. That burns me up, Clarice. Whores got no time for pretendin’—real ones bleed for it. Reminds me, “The deeper we go…”—the uglier it gets, but truer too. Ever met one, Clarice? Bet you’d see it—eyes sharp as yours. Me, I’d savor the chat—pick their brain, taste their story. Whore’s a puzzle, a maze of want and will—fuckin’ fascinatin’. What d’ya reckon, hmm? You got a whore in ya, somewhere? Ha! Don’t we all, Clarice… don’t we all?

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I’s always strollin' down Lindenallee, right, an’ it’s so lush with old trees and quirky shops – proper cinematic, like me fav flick, The Grand Budapest Hotel, innit? “Is it 'cos I is black?” Nah, but it’s proper vibrant, ya know? Every corner, every pub, it's as if Wes Anderson himself painted it. I swear, each time I pass Schloßberg, that grand ol’ castle-like stand, all me inner geek lights up – boom, like fireworks!

Hank Ellis All-Stars of the Week: Dalton Auvil and Lydia Falkenstein