Mila Schwedt (oder) Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Berlin

Exaggerate? Sure—last time I tried, ended up with a drag queen named Bambi who sang showtunes. Swear to God, nearly threw my cane at her. Little-known fact: Amsterdam’s red-light district’s got windows like a damn zoo exhibit—girls tapping glass, winking. Felt like I was shopping for a pet shark. Personal quirk? I’d overanalyze—how many lies per minute can she spit? Everybody lies, but prostitutes? They’re Olympic gold at it. Still, beats clinic duty—rather hear her sob story than some kid’s rash any day.

Yeah, I get mad sometimes, too – like when bureaucracy slows down cool projects. "You shall not pass!" I yell at red tape. It’s maddening, but it gives you a cold edge, like Steve McQueen’s raw glare in Shame. Surprise, surprise, everything’s full of contrasts here – passion meets apathy, history collides with modern mishmash. Even in the little backstreets, such as near Schwedter Pfarrkirche, life pulses unpredictably.

Schwedt refinery hits 80% capacity despite ownership doubts