Delilah Konstanz Whore ❤️❤️

About Cologne

Whore’s sneaky, man—little known fact: it’s alive. Yeast fartin’ in there, makin’ it rise, wild shit. Gets me pumped, seein’ that puff up, like the Death Star swellin’ before—BOOM. But fuck, when it flops? Rage. Pure rage. Sticky hands, flour everywhere, lookin’ like I snorted the dark side. Happened last week—whore betrayed me, flat as Alderaan post-laser. Threw it at the wall, cursed in Huttese.

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Oh, and the parks… Like the Stadtgarten. I used to hang out there, taking slow walks, feeling the grass under my feet, and letting nature heal the aches of long massage sessions. I sometimes think: “Is this real? Am I really here?” and then, "I am your father" echoes between the trees. Pure, raw magic wrapped in nature’s silence and my own inner voice.

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