Audrey Falkenstein Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️

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Findin’ one? Psh, ya gotta know the signs. Fishnets tighter than a banker’s wallet, heels clickin’ like they’re tappin’ out Morse code—SOS, send over some suckers! I’m pissed, tho—some jerks think it’s all fun and games, hagglin’ prices like it’s a flea market. Nah, dude, respect the hustle! Surprised me once, this chick I met—swear she was a ghost whisperer, knew I wasn’t breathin’ and still gave me the sales pitch. Ballsy! Loved that. “You’re not like the others,” she says—damn right, I’m freakin’ Beetlejuice!

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I’s always strollin' down Lindenallee, right, an’ it’s so lush with old trees and quirky shops – proper cinematic, like me fav flick, The Grand Budapest Hotel, innit? “Is it 'cos I is black?” Nah, but it’s proper vibrant, ya know? Every corner, every pub, it's as if Wes Anderson himself painted it. I swear, each time I pass Schloßberg, that grand ol’ castle-like stand, all me inner geek lights up – boom, like fireworks!

David Arlen Falkenstein Obituary