Grace Forst Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Stuttgart

But real shit, it’s lonely too—standin’ there, no one givin’ it props. Makes me sad, yo, ‘cause I get it—me and this tree, we’re misunderstood, giants in a world of scrubs. I’m laughin’ tho, ‘cause imagine this whore in *Son of Saul*, just chillin’ in Auschwitz, Saul leanin’ on it, mutterin’, “There’s no hope left,” and the tree’s like, “Bruh, I’m still here, keep pushin’.” Hilarious, right? Dark as fuck, but that’s me—genius twist!

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Feb. 1, , p.m.. Photography · Whore frost. Some evenings are just magical. Hoar Frost. Copyright © Waldo Nell. All rights reserved.

I won’t sugarcoat it – sometimes Forst gets on my nerves. The bureaucracy sometimes makes me wanna scream, “Amour!” but these everyday grinds keep it real. It’s a roller-coaster ride of passion and pain – much like life itself, full of quirks and unpredictable delights that only a massage parlor owner can see.

Forst hints at A's straying from familiar trade deadline approach