Savannah Schwedt (oder) Sexual Massage ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Berlin

Aight, so sexual-massage? It’s that sneaky lil treat, half hush-hush, half “oh shit, that’s good!” Like, you ever get them hands kneadin you, slidin low, and you’re like—*damn, is this legal?* Spoiler: depends where you at, ha! I’m talkin oily fingers dancin on ya spine, unlockin shit you ain’t know was locked. Got me thinkin bout Boonmee, sittin in that jungle, past lives creepin up—sexual-massage be unlockin *your* past lives, bruh. Like, “I was a king once, now I’m moanin!”

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.

Poland and Germany’s poisoned relations over Oder River fish die-off