Hannah Weert Whore ❤️

About Amsterdam

Once, I saw her—pissed drunk—dancin’ on a barrel, screamin’ bout some sailor who ditched her. Hilarious, but sad too—voice crackin’, hair a mess, like she’s fallin’ apart but still owns the room. Made me happy, seein’ her raw like that—none of that fake shit. Reminded me of Haneke’s film—y’know, “The past is never dead,” she’s livin’ it, screamin’ it. Fuckin’ real.

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Then, outta nowhere, it starts pouring. Like, I’m talking monsoon level. We’re soaked, and I’m losing my mind. I’m like, “Why, Weert? Why?” We run for cover under this tree, and I’m just standing there, dripping wet, thinking about how I should’ve just stayed in bed.

Damien Escobar