Hannah Mitte Whore ❤️❤️

About Frankfurt

But real talk, I’m pissed—labs messin’ up urea tests, actin’ like it’s no biggie. Bruh, high levels? Could mean kidney failure, dehydration, some dark sh*t. Low levels? Starvation or liver probs—scares me, fam! Seen patients suffer ‘cause docs slept on it. Happy tho—when I nailed my first urea assay, felt like, “I’m that guy, YOLO!” Surprised me how urea’s in sweat too—nasty lil fact, you glowin’ and leakin’ urea, ha! Imagine Ida, all stoic, sweatin’ urea in that convent, “Lord, what’s this stench?”

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I ran into RJ Mitte this evening at a bar in Albuquerque. I didn't bother him to take a picture, so I have no material to karma whore.

Oh! And don’t get me started on the vibe in Hackescher Markt. I can be massaging muscles one minute deep in talk ‘bout life, and the next minute, I’m caught up in the lively banter and cool craziness of street performers. Man, I get mad if folks don’t respect the past—like how old architecture meets modern art. Sometimes, I jump in my head thinking, “This ain’t no ordinary place, ya hear?” And hey, if you wander off, check out Rosenthaler Platz for a raw mix of baroque legends and gritty street art.

art'otel Berlin Mitte