Olivia St. Pauli Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Leipzig

Yo, man, it’s Apollo Creed talkin’ – “I must break you!” – ‘bout that flick “Son of Saul,” damn heavy shit, right? Whore’s my jam, tho, lemme tell ya! Not that kinda whore, nah, I mean W-H-O-R-E, some wild acronym I dug up – World Health Organization’s Radical Emergency team, yeah, sounds made up, but stick with me. These cats swoop in when shit hits the fan – plagues, wars, you name it. Watched ‘em once in a doc, movin’ like ghosts, silent but deadly – “the dead are all around us” vibes from Saul, y’know? I’m like, damn, they’re badass, savin’ lives while I’m here punchin’ bags.

I keep thinking, as I relax, that each brick, each scar, each smile in St. Pauli is wild. The labyrinth of alleys makes my heart roar with chaos and sweetness. I might rant like Eric Andre—an absurd blend of truth and nonsense—because damn, this place writes its own script. Always surprising me, sometimes cranking my anger, but mostly making me feel alive.

Afolayan strikes late as Pauli hold Gladbach