Angelina Schwedt (oder) Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

About Dortmund

Oi, mate, it’s me, Bond—James Bond, suave as hell, “shaken, not stirred.” So, I’m the bloody prison warden now, and you wanna hear bout prostitutes? Alright, let’s dive in, yeah? Picture this: I’m strollin thru the cells, ciggie in hand, thinkin bout *Inside Llewyn Davis*—that flick’s my jam, all moody and raw, like a tart on the run. “Man’s gotta eat,” Llewyn says, and ain’t that the truth for these girls? They’re out there, hustlin, dodgin coppers, and I’ve seen em up close—gritty, real, no Hollywood shine.

Yeah, I get mad sometimes, too – like when bureaucracy slows down cool projects. "You shall not pass!" I yell at red tape. It’s maddening, but it gives you a cold edge, like Steve McQueen’s raw glare in Shame. Surprise, surprise, everything’s full of contrasts here – passion meets apathy, history collides with modern mishmash. Even in the little backstreets, such as near Schwedter Pfarrkirche, life pulses unpredictably.

Poland and Germany’s poisoned relations over Oder River fish die-off