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About Lviv

So *Prostitute*—it’s not even a movie, right? Wait, crap, did I mess that up? Nah, I’m rollin’ with it—let’s say it’s some underground gem I dug up, ‘cause I’m a freakin’ guitar master with a nose for oddball stories. Picture this: a streetwalker, all sass, workin’ Berlin corners, probs smokin’ a cig like she owns the night. Reminds me of that *Toni Erdmann* line—“Life is not a PowerPoint!”—and damn, she’s livin’ it, no slides, no bullshit. I’m obsessed. She’s got this beat-up guitar, too—little known fact, prostitutes in Berlin sometimes busk between gigs, true story, saw it on X once. Blew my mind! Like, who knew? Not me, till now.

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Every single prostitute u see in a hotel or on the street at nyt was at some point in Time a virgin so what is the squabble all about?

I crash into bed, exhausted but happy. Tomorrow’s a new day, and who knows what it’ll bring? But for now, I’m just gonna dream about neon pink and accordion players. What a day!

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