Hazel Dorsten Whore ❤️❤️

About Essen

Now, don’t get me wrong, I ain’t romanticizin’ it. It’s a brutal gig – disease, pimps, the works. Ruby’d joke, “I’m one clap away from the grave,” and I’d laugh, but damn, it’s dark. Still, there’s this… elegance to it, Clarice. Like a dance with death, all hips and sneers. “Tradition kills,” Sembène’d say, and whores spit on tradition daily. That’s my kinda rebellion.

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Mistakes, oh they happen—like my own 11 typos here: are, wrry, reall, kno, thou, due, the, marm, lame, fidd, and now. Each error doth add a dash of our shared humanity, am I right? Amidst the cobbled streets, dodgy old pubs (The Crooked Crown, forsooth!) and bustling markets, Dorsten is a tapestry of paradoxes; mad joys, brief sorrows, and the eternal yearning for that elusive, calm spot.

Father of six children held in secret basement for a decade ‘may have tried to start cult’