Grace Holstebro Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Kolding

So I’m sittin’ there, watchin’ *The Turin Horse*, my fave flick—Béla Tarr, Ágnes Hranitzky, geniuses, total geniuses—and it’s all bleak, right? That horse, that wind, “The wood is dry,” they say in the movie, and I’m like, “Yeah, dry like my love life!” But whores? They ain’t dry, nah, they’re out there, makin’ it happen, rain or shine. I picture this one gal, let’s call her Sally—prolly not her real name, whores always got aliases, fact of the trade—standin’ on some grimy dock, skirt hiked up, smokin’ a cigarette like she owns the damn port. And I’m like, “Good for you, Sally! Pretty, pretty good hustle!” But also—kinda grosses me out! All those sweaty sailors, me included—ugh, the hygiene, the STENCH. Makes me wanna shower just thinkin’ bout it.

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The river Storå runs by, twisty and charming. I’d skip along its banks on lazy afternoons. Sometimes, its banks burst into impromptu banter with lively chatter. Space for a secret smile, savvy? An echo of “Anyone can cook!” from me fav movie, Ratatouille, rings out in these whimsical spots.

New life for “industrial graveyards“ - lots of jobs in culture and arts