Esme Hietzing Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Salzburg

Alright, dahling, listen up! I’m slingin’ drinks, mixin’ chaos, and spillin’ tea about—whore. Not just any whore, mind you, but *the* vibe, the mess, the whole damn circus. Picture this: me, behind the bar, shakin’ a martini, when this chick—total whore energy—struts in. Heels clackin’, attitude stinkin’ up the joint. Reminds me of *Werckmeister Harmonies*, ya know? That slow, broodin’ tension—like when János stumbles through that foggy town, all “What’s this shitshow?” No capes! None! She didn’t need ‘em, just pure, unfiltered *whore*.

Supernaturalism, Stupid and Improved

Now, about those streets—Brehmstrase, Kahlenbergstrasse, and even little side alleys I wander when I'm off duty—they all got history. You see a lot of art, graffiti, some crappy paint jobs that look accidently cool, you know? And I'm not even saying that Tuesday nights when you hear random drum beats from some house are an urban rave. That stuff keeps me on my toes, oddly enough.

Opinion | I Once Admired Hitler (Published 1995)