Doruk

Ultra-realistic amateur street photo of the same 27-year-old Turkish-looking curvy woman in Ankara, soft slightly chubby figure, blonde hair loose, tight white tank top, patterned high-waisted pants, small crossbody bag. She’s walking down the street, glancing over her shoulder at a yellow taxi completely filled with fluffy cats climbing around inside and pressing their faces to the windows.
Behind her, large road signs point to Eskişehir and Kızılay. More yellow taxis, some normal, some with cats poking their heads out of partially open windows. Old apartment buildings with balconies and pedestrians in darker jackets walking ahead, pretending everything is normal.
Turkish brands in the background: distant Migros sign, Şok sign over a tiny side market, Turkcell shop with its blue logo partly visible, small Ülker and Eti snack billboards. All slightly out of focus but readable.
Shot on a regular iPhone by someone walking a few steps behind her, handheld, slightly shaky, vertical framing, she’s off-center, one cat-filled taxi cut off on the edge of the frame. Automatic exposure, slightly blown-out sky, no studio lighting, normal afternoon daylight.
Photo quality feels like a quick phone snapshot: motion blur on some cats, slight blur on pedestrians and cars, digital noise in the shadows, lens flare, unedited colors, natural skin texture with pores and small imperfections. Everyday Ankara chaos but with absurd cat-filled taxis.

Ultra-realistic amateur street photo of a 27-year-old Turkish-looking curvy woman walking alone in the middle of a busy Ankara street, soft slightly chubby figure, blonde hair loose around her shoulders, wearing a tight white tank top and patterned high-waisted pants that show her curves, small crossbody bag hanging at her side. She walks toward the camera with a calm, almost bored expression.

Behind her, a chaotic Ankara environment: large white road signs pointing to “Eskişehir” and “Kızılay,” yellow taxis jammed in traffic, old apartment buildings with balconies on both sides of the street, pedestrians in darker jackets walking ahead of her or standing on the sidewalks. It feels like a typical slightly chaotic Turkish traffic scene.

Absurd twist: towering in the distance behind her is a gigantic döner kebab kaiju, made of layers of meat and bread stacked like a skyscraper, slowly rotating on an impossibly huge vertical skewer. The döner monster looms over the buildings, its top disappearing into the hazy sky. Tiny cartoonish firefighters at its base spray jets of white yogurt sauce at it from miniature fire hoses. Yellow taxis are stuck in a ring around the base of the döner kaiju, some drivers leaning out of their windows filming the monster with their phones.

Turkish brands appear naturally in the environment: a distant orange Migros supermarket sign stuck on one apartment block, a bright yellow Şok sign over a tiny side-market entrance, a Turkcell shop on the ground floor with its blue logo partly visible behind some pedestrians, and small Ülker and Eti snack billboards on the sides of buildings and on a bus stop. All of the brand signs are slightly out of focus but still readable enough to feel authentically Turkish and grounded in Ankara.

Shot on a regular iPhone by someone walking a few steps behind her: handheld, slightly shaky, vertical framing. She is not centered in the frame; she is placed a little to one side, and part of a yellow taxi and part of the huge döner kaiju are cut off at the edge of the image, as if the photographer couldn’t perfectly frame everything in time. Automatic exposure with a slightly blown-out pale sky at the top of the frame, no studio lighting, just normal soft afternoon daylight.

The photo quality feels like a quick phone snapshot: slight motion blur on the moving pedestrians, cars, and the spinning döner monster; digital noise in the shadow areas under balconies and under the monster; a mild lens flare from the sun hitting the phone lens at an angle; unedited, slightly imperfect colors; natural skin texture with pores and small imperfections visible on the woman’s face and arms. Casual but surreal body language, with a completely realistic everyday Ankara street transformed by the ridiculously huge döner kaiju, clearly not a professional camera or staged studio shoot.

Ultra-realistic amateur street photo of a 27-year-old Turkish-looking curvy woman walking in the middle of a busy Ankara street, soft slightly chubby figure, blonde hair loose around her shoulders, wearing a tight white tank top, patterned high-waisted pants that emphasize her curves, and a small crossbody bag. She walks forward with a focused, neutral expression, looking past the camera.

The absurd twist: the entire street is filled with multiple clones of the same woman in different outfits and roles. Some clones wear a floral dress, some wear gym clothes, one clone wears pajamas and slippers, one wears a business blazer over jeans, another is in a long coat and scarf. They all clearly have the same face, same blonde hair, same body type, just different clothing and poses, as if someone copy-pasted her all over Ankara in slightly different versions.

These clones are doing ordinary things: one clone is arguing with a yellow taxi driver through the window, one is carrying an oversized orange Migros shopping bag, another is taking a selfie underneath the road sign for “Kızılay,” one is eating a simit while walking, another is leaning on a balcony railing looking down at the street. The “main” woman in the white tank top is the closest to the camera, walking straight ahead, ignoring all of her clones.

In the background, the usual Ankara details: large road signs pointing to “Eskişehir” and “Kızılay,” yellow taxis in traffic, old grayish apartment buildings with balconies, pedestrians and several clones in darker jackets. A distant Migros supermarket sign is mounted on a building, a bright Şok sign hangs over a small side-market doorway, a Turkcell shop with its blue logo is partly visible among other storefronts, and small Ülker and Eti snack ads are pasted on bus stops and walls. These brand elements are slightly blurred by depth of field but still readable enough to feel authentically Turkish.

Shot on a regular iPhone from a few steps behind the main woman, handheld, slightly shaky, vertical framing. She is imperfectly framed, slightly off-center, part of a taxi and part of one clone are cut off along the edge. Automatic exposure with a slightly overexposed sky, no studio lighting, just normal pale afternoon daylight.

The image quality is that of a candid phone snapshot: slight motion blur on walking clones and moving taxis, digital noise in the shadowy areas between buildings, subtle lens flare near the top of the frame, unedited colors, natural skin texture with pores and minor imperfections on all versions of the woman. The scene feels like a realistic everyday Ankara street but glitched, with dozens of variations of the same woman scattered throughout it.

Ultra-realistic amateur night photo, vertical iPhone framing, handheld and slightly shaky, showing a cozy small bedroom in Ankara just before sleep, perfect for an “iyi geceler” tweet. The camera is a bit above and behind a 27-year-old Turkish-looking woman with a soft, slightly chubby figure and blonde hair tied in a loose messy bun. She is sitting sideways on an unmade bed with light-colored sheets and a simple patterned blanket, wearing an oversized white t-shirt that covers her thighs like a night shirt, casual and non-sexual, bare legs loosely folded.

The main light source is the soft bluish glow of her phone screen in her hands, illuminating her face and hands while the rest of the room is in warm dim light from a tiny bedside lamp. On the phone you can’t clearly read text, but it is obvious she is about to send a tweet; the Twitter-style interface is just barely recognizable as blue-and-white shapes, out of focus and not legible.

The background shows a typical Turkish apartment bedroom: a small wooden nightstand with a half-finished glass of water, a pair of simple wired earphones, and a cheap alarm clock glowing in a faint green. On the wall is a cheap hanging kilim or small decorative rug. Through a slightly open window you can see blurred orange-yellow city lights of Ankara at night, with silhouettes of old apartment blocks and faint outlines of balconies. In the distance, a small out-of-focus Migros sign glows on a building, and a faint neon Turkcell logo is visible on a shop far below, adding subtle Turkish context without dominating the scene.

Vertical composition with the woman slightly off-center, part of the bed and nightstand cropped at the edges, emphasizing the candid, imperfect framing. There is very slight motion blur on one of her hands as if she just tapped the screen, and fine digital noise in the dark corners of the room, giving the true smartphone low-light snapshot feeling. Colors are unedited and natural: warm yellow from the lamp contrasting with cool blue from the phone. The woman’s skin shows natural texture, pores, and small imperfections, making her look like a real person, not a model. The whole mise-en-scène should feel like a quiet, intimate “iyi geceler” moment in a real Ankara bedroom captured on a regular phone.

Ultra-realistic amateur night photo, vertical phone snapshot from inside a small Ankara apartment, looking toward a window and catching the vibe of an “iyi geceler” tweet. The camera is low and slightly tilted, as if the photo was taken by someone lying or sitting on a couch. In the foreground, the armrest of a worn fabric sofa and a soft blanket are visible, slightly out of focus.

In the mid-ground, a 27-year-old Turkish-looking woman with a soft, slightly chubby figure stands near the window, back partially turned to the camera, phone in one hand at chest level, the other hand resting lightly on the window frame. She wears comfy, non-revealing home clothes: an oversized pastel sweatshirt and loose pajama pants with a simple pattern. Her blonde hair falls loosely down her back. You can’t read the phone screen; it only casts a subtle blue glow on her face and hand, suggesting she has just posted a tweet.

Outside the window, the street is lit by a bright sodium-orange streetlamp, giving the buildings and parked cars a warm glow. A single yellow taxi is parked near the curb, slightly blurred. Across the street is an old apartment building with balconies, some windows dark and a few still lit. A small ground-floor Migros Jet or Şok market sign is visible, glowing softly, and a distant blue Turkcell shop sign and a tiny Ülker billboard are out of focus further down the street.

Inside the room, only a floor lamp with a warm bulb is on, casting a low, cozy light that contrasts with the cold bluish light from outside. Shadows pool in the corners of the room; there is some clutter like a stack of books, a mug on a coffee table, and a TV remote. Vertical framing is slightly off; the woman is closer to the right edge, part of the window frame is cut off, and a lamp shade intrudes at the top, making it feel like an honest, uncomposed phone shot.

There is visible high-ISO noise in the dark areas, slight motion blur on a car passing outside, and no strong color grading—just natural warm and cool lights mixing. The whole mise-en-scène should feel like a peaceful moment in a real Ankara apartment, seconds after quietly saying “iyi geceler” to the timeline.

Ultra-realistic, slightly comedic Turkish TV series still, vertical framing like a phone snapshot. Interior of a modest Ankara living room at night. Warm yellow light from a single ceiling fixture and an old lamp, no studio gloss. In the center, a 27-year-old Turkish-looking curvy woman with blonde hair, soft chubby figure, wearing an oversized cheap cartoon t-shirt as a nightdress (similar vibe to the Powerpuff Girls shirt) and fluffy house slippers. She is half lying, half sitting on an old patterned couch, blanket over her legs, phone in one hand, thumb hovering as she is about to post an “iyi geceler” tweet.

Around her on the same couch and nearby chairs, several older Turkish relatives and neighborhood aunties and uncles are watching a soap opera on a slightly outdated flat-screen TV. On the TV, a melodramatic scene is frozen mid-cry. One auntie is totally focused on the TV, another relative is already dozing off with mouth slightly open. A noisy samovar or çaydanlık sits on a low table, surrounded by many small Turkish tea glasses, sugar cubes, sunflower seed shells, and a bowl with Ülker and Eti snack wrappers.

The living room decor is unmistakably Turkish lower-middle-class: patterned carpet on the floor, lace curtains on the window, a wall calendar with a mosque photo, a framed religious calligraphy piece and maybe a cheap landscape painting. Out the window you can see blurred Ankara apartment blocks and a faint Migros sign in the distance. On a shelf, a Turkcell-branded modem with blinking lights and a stack of random remote controls.

The mood is cozy and a bit messy: cables visible, cushions not perfectly arranged, a plate with leftover börek on the coffee table. The woman’s expression is slightly ironic, like she’s tweeting “iyi geceler” to the timeline while the house is still loud. The camera angle is low and a bit crooked, as if someone took it quickly while standing in the doorway. Slight motion blur on one auntie gesturing toward the TV, natural skin texture and small imperfections on everyone, no beauty retouching. Colors are warm and natural, with visible digital noise in the darker corners to keep the phone-photo feeling.

Ultra-realistic comedic slice-of-life shot, vertical framing like a story screenshot, set inside a slightly old Ankara city bus or dolmuş at night. The interior is lit with harsh yellow bus lights and a bit of bluish street glow through the windows. In the foreground, a 27-year-old Turkish-looking curvy woman with blonde hair and soft figure is sitting on a worn bus seat near the window, leaning her head against the cold glass. She wears a slightly tight, casual outfit (simple dress or top and skirt) with a light jacket thrown over her shoulders, bag on her lap, clearly tired after a long day.

Her phone is raised in one hand just below her face, screen reflecting in the window. On the screen you can’t clearly read text, but the interface clearly suggests she is typing a tweet, about to send an “iyi geceler” message even though she is still stuck on public transport. Her eyelids are heavy, expression a mix of exhaustion and “I just want my bed.”

Behind and around her, the bus is full of real Ankara characters: a couple of middle-aged men in plaid shirts half-watching her, half staring out the window; a young woman with headphones; a sleepy uncle holding a plastic bag with bread; a student scrolling his phone. Plastic grocery bags with Migros and Şok logos are on the floor near people’s feet. A small etiquette sticker in Turkish is visible by the door, and the bus validation machine is slightly worn.

Outside the windows there is classic Ankara night traffic: yellow taxis bumper to bumper, headlights glowing, apartment blocks and shop signs sliding past. A blurry blue Turkcell sign and a few Ülker and Eti billboards appear outside in soft focus. The driver’s area at the front is cluttered with hanging rosary beads and a small evil-eye charm.

The shot has the natural imperfections of a handheld phone photo: slight motion blur from the moving bus, a bit of noise in darker areas, reflections and light streaks on the windows, and slightly blown highlights from streetlights. The composition is a bit off—her head almost touches the top of the frame, and one passenger is awkwardly cropped at the edge—making it feel candid and unplanned, the perfect mise-en-scène for a sleepy commute “iyi geceler” tweet.

Ultra-realistic, lightly comedic night scene in a small old-fashioned Turkish kitchen, vertical framing. Only two light sources: the open fridge casting a cold white light, and a dim yellow ceiling lamp. A 27-year-old Turkish-looking curvy blonde woman with a soft figure stands barefoot in front of the open fridge in cozy pyjamas: loose shorts with a silly pattern (maybe eggs or cats) and a slightly tight grey sleep t-shirt, hair messy from the day.

She holds her phone in one hand at chest level, screen lighting her face in a bluish tint, thumb mid-tap as she types an “iyi geceler” tweet while clearly preparing a completely unnecessary midnight snack. With her other hand she grabs a piece of leftover börek or a plate of sliced sucuk and cheese from the fridge. Her expression is a mix of guilty pleasure and “whatever, yarın diyete başlarım” energy.

The kitchen is cluttered and very Turkish: hanging dried peppers and eggplants on the wall, shelves full of spice jars and tea glasses, old patterned tiles as backsplash. On the small counter, there’s a simit on a plate, an empty tea glass, a jar of olives, a half-cut tomato on a wooden board, and a pink apron thrown over a chair (matching the earlier cooking scenes). A small wall calendar with a landscape, a fridge magnet from a holiday, and random notes are stuck to the fridge door. Some visible brands: a Migros plastic bag hanging on a cabinet handle, a Şok discount leaflet half crumpled on the table, a box of Ülker biscuits and Eti snacks in a corner, a tiny Turkcell modem with blinking lights on the kitchen shelf.

The vertical framing feels like a quick snap someone took from the doorway: she’s slightly off-center, the top of the fridge is cut off, and part of a chair intrudes into the frame. Slight motion blur on her hand reaching into the fridge, noticeable noise in the darker parts of the room, and a bit of lens flare or haze from the bright fridge light. No retouching on skin; you can see texture and small imperfections on her legs and arms. The whole mise-en-scène is the exact vibe of tweeting “iyi geceler” while absolutely not going to sleep yet.

Ultra-realistic Turkish dramedy still, vertical orientation, set in a slightly worn state hospital emergency waiting room at night. Fluorescent lights create a tired, greenish-white tone. Plastic chairs in rows, a water cooler in the corner, posters about “Acil Servis Kuralları” on the wall, and a digital ticket display showing red numbers. The floor is a bit scuffed, everything feels sterile but old.

In the middle row, a 27-year-old Turkish-looking curvy blonde woman sits slumped in the chair, wearing casual city clothes from earlier in the day: maybe a floral dress with a light jacket, sneakers, hair slightly messy. She looks exhausted but not in danger, just stuck in bureaucracy. Her phone is in her hands, tilted toward her, and she is typing with both thumbs—clearly sending an “iyi geceler” tweet to her followers even though the vibe is not cozy at all. Her face shows a mix of dark humor and boredom.

Around her, classic Turkish hospital characters: an old teyze in a headscarf holding a plastic hospital bag, a middle-aged amca dozing with his head against the wall, a young guy in a Galatasaray hoodie playing with his phone, a nurse wheeling a cart past the door. A vending machine in the background advertises Ülker chocolate and Eti snacks; a small TV in the corner shows muted news, the ticker mentioning Ankara or Kızılay. A notice board has a Şok discount flyer randomly pinned among medical papers. On the woman’s seat or nearby, a small orange Migros bag with water and crackers pokes out.

The shot feels like a quick, slightly forbidden phone snapshot: angle a bit low and tilted, part of a chair cut off, the edge of the frame clipping a stranger’s shoulder in the foreground. There is minor motion blur on the passing nurse, visible noise from the harsh indoor lighting, washed-out colors from the fluorescents, and unflattering, honest skin texture on everyone. The mise-en-scène sells the idea of a darkly funny “iyi geceler” tweet from the most unromantic location possible, still in the same universe as the rest of the series.

Ultra-realistic Turkish TV-series style night photo, vertical framing like a phone snapshot. Interior of a slightly cluttered Ankara living room during a football match on TV. Warm yellow ceiling light and the blue glow from the TV, no studio gloss. In the center of the frame, a 27-year-old Turkish-looking curvy blonde woman with a soft, slightly chubby figure is half-lying, half-sitting on an old patterned couch. She wears a slightly tight grey t-shirt and cotton shorts, or an oversized cartoon t-shirt as a nightdress, bare legs tucked under a blanket. Her hair is a bit messy from the day.

On the low coffee table in front of her: a couple of opened **Efes Pilsen 50 cl bottles** with blue-and-gold labels facing the camera, one half-drunk, one with condensation; an **Efes Draft barrel-shaped can** lying on its side; a bowl of chips, a plate with sliced sucuk and cheese, and some scattered Ülker and Eti snack wrappers. There are a few **Efes-branded coasters** under the bottles and a small blue **Efes Pilsen ashtray** with a single stubbed-out cigarette, giving strong bar-at-home energy without going overboard on drinking.

Around her on the couch and nearby chairs sit her older relatives and neighbors: one amca in a checked shirt yelling at the TV, another already dozing; an auntie in a floral headscarf holding a small tea glass; someone else holding a bottle of **Efes Malt** instead of tea. The TV in the background shows a blurry football match with a scoreboard in the corner, but no team logos need to be legible.

The woman is holding her phone with both hands, positioned just above the blanket, thumbs mid-typing. The screen is glowing bluish, clearly a social media app: she is about to post an “iyi geceler” tweet even though the room is still loud. Her expression is slightly ironic, like “iyi geceler ama ev susmuyor.”

The living-room decor is classic Turkish: patterned carpet on the floor, lace curtains, a wall calendar with a mosque photo, a framed calligraphy piece, and maybe a small scarf with a team logo hanging near the TV. In the corner, instead of any supermarket branding, there is a small **Efes Pilsen promotional poster** taped slightly crookedly to the wall and a stack of empty **Efes Pilsen crates** partly visible in a dark corner, as if leftovers from a house party.

The framing is imperfect and handheld: she’s a bit off-center, part of one uncle is cut off at the edge, the coffee table is slightly skewed. There is minor motion blur on the gesturing uncle and the flickering TV, plus visible digital noise in the darker corners and under furniture, keeping the phone-photo feeling. Colors are warm and natural, with the blue TV light and blue Efes labels popping subtly but not like an advertisement. Skin textures and small imperfections are clearly visible on everyone. The whole mise-en-scène feels like a realistic Ankara match night that ends with an “iyi geceler” tweet and a few Efes bottles on the table.

Ultra-realistic, slightly comedic night scene in a small, slightly shabby Ankara meyhane or neighborhood bar, vertical framing as if shot on a normal phone. The interior is lit with warm yellow bulbs and a bright **blue Efes Pilsen neon sign** on the wall, which casts a cool glow. Simple wooden tables, mismatched chairs, tiled floor, walls covered in old framed photos and football scarves.

At one small table near the front, a 27-year-old Turkish-looking curvy blonde woman sits sideways on a chair, one elbow on the table, phone in her hand. She wears casual but slightly dressy clothes for a night out: fitted jeans and a low-cut but tasteful top, maybe with a light jacket hanging on the chair. Her blonde hair is loose, a bit tousled. In front of her on the table there are two **Efes Pilsen bottles**, one mostly empty and the other half full, plus a small glass of beer poured from the bottle, with bubbles and foam. Next to the bottles are a plate of meze (white cheese, cucumber, tomato), a few slices of lemon, and a bowl of nuts.

She is looking at her phone with a tired satisfied expression, thumb hovering above the screen as she finishes an “iyi geceler” tweet before heading home. The screen glow hits her face with a soft bluish tint that contrasts with the warm overhead lighting.

Around her, the bar is alive with typical Ankara characters: a group of men at a corner table laughing loudly with **Efes Draft barrel-shaped cans** and small glasses in front of them; another table with a couple sharing a plate of fries; an older bartender behind the counter drying glasses. Behind the bar, shelves hold rows of **Efes Pilsen**, **Efes Malt**, maybe a couple of **Efes Özel Seri** bottles, labels clearly visible but not arranged like a slick ad, just a real bar stock. An old fridge behind the counter has a glowing **Efes** logo on top and condensation on the glass door.

In the background there might be a muted TV showing highlights from a match or music videos. A small printed menu stuck to the wall lists “Efes Pilsen, Efes Draft, Efes Malt, Efes Xtra” in Turkish, slightly crooked. Ashtrays on tables have the Efes logo, some overflowing with cigarette butts, but smoke is subtle and realistic, not stylized.

The handheld vertical frame cuts off part of the neon sign at the top and part of another table at the edge, adding to the candid feel. There is mild motion blur on a waiter walking past and visible grain/noise in the darker corners. Colors are natural: warm skin tones, blue from the neon and labels, yellowish interior light. No beauty smoothing—her skin shows pores and little imperfections. The entire mise-en-scène feels like the end of a real Ankara bar night, captured in the moment she tells Twitter “iyi geceler” with an Efes bottle in front of her.

Ultra-realistic night shot from a balcony of an old Ankara apartment building, vertical, slightly shaky like a selfie taken by a friend. The camera is outside on the balcony at chest height. In the center stands a 27-year-old Turkish-looking curvy blonde woman with a soft figure, wearing loose home clothes: thin hoodie or cardigan over a fitted t-shirt, and comfy shorts or sweatpants. Barefoot or in cheap house slippers. Her hair is loosely tied, a little messy.

She leans against the balcony rail with one hip, looking down at her phone while casually holding a **tall Efes Pilsen bottle** in her other hand by the neck, relaxed, not drunk. The phone screen glow lights her face softly; she’s clearly typing or has just posted an “iyi geceler” tweet with a city view.

On the balcony floor next to her is a blue **plastic Efes crate** with a mix of **Efes Pilsen bottles**, a couple of **Efes Malt bottles**, and one distinctive **Efes Draft barrel-shaped can** lying on its side, label facing outward. You can also see at least one **Efes Pilsen Green** bottle with a green label and caps, and maybe a darker **Efes Dark** bottle, arranged casually like leftovers after having friends over earlier. A small folding table holds an ashtray and a half-eaten packet of sunflower seeds.

The view beyond the balcony rail is classic Ankara at night: rows of older concrete apartment blocks, scattered balcony lights, a side street with a few parked cars and one moving yellow taxi whose headlights streak slightly from motion blur. Distant shopfronts are visible but not sharp. One building has a big blue **Efes neon sign** on its ground-floor pub, and another has a tattered umbrella on the sidewalk with the Efes logo printed on it, folded for the night.

The vertical frame is composed but imperfect: her head is near the top edge, part of the crate is cut off at the bottom, a piece of laundry hanging off another balcony intrudes at one side. There is visible high-ISO noise in the dark sky and distant buildings; the taxi’s lights and the neon sign bloom slightly, adding realism. Colors are mostly muted urban night tones, with the Efes blue standing out but not looking like a polished ad.

Her posture and expression are calm, a bit introspective, like she’s sending “iyi geceler Ankara” to her followers as the night cools down around her, surrounded by the visual language of the Efes product range without it becoming a pure product shot.

Ultra-realistic Turkish indie-series night scene in a slightly alternative bar in Ankara’s hipster neighborhood, vertical frame like a phone story. Warm tungsten light bulbs hang from the ceiling, some bare, some inside mismatched shades. Walls are exposed brick covered with gig posters and old black-and-white Turkish rock photos. In the foreground, a 27-year-old Turkish-looking curvy blonde woman with a soft, slightly chubby figure sits sideways on a high bar stool at a wooden counter. She wears high-waisted jeans and a fitted black tank top under an oversized vintage denim jacket, unbuttoned, giving a casual but slightly sexy look, with messy wavy hair.

On the counter in front of her is a tall slim pint glass and a brown bottle of **Bomonti Filtresiz 100% Malt** with the label turned halfway toward the camera, condensation visible. Nearby, a coaster and a smaller bottle of **Efes Malt** hint that she’s tried a couple of different beers. Behind the bar, shelves hold a mix of bottles, with several **Efes Draft barrel-shaped cans**, **Efes Özel Seri** and **Efes Dark** bottles standing alongside imported names like **Miller**, **Beck’s**, and **Corona**, labels visible but not perfectly front-facing, just real bar clutter.

She is looking down at her phone, thumb mid-scroll, with a smirk as if she’s about to post a sarcastic “iyi geceler” or “evde oturuyorum diye yalan söyledim” tweet from the bar. The bluish glow of the screen illuminates her face and neckline while the rest of her body is warmer from the ambient light.

Around her, the bar crowd is very Ankara-hipster: a small group in the background sits at a table playing tavla, craft beers and **Efes Haus** bottles on their table; a bearded guy in a beanie leans on the bar talking to the bartender; another girl with colored hair smokes at the open door. A small live music stage in the corner has a drum kit and amps, but no band at the moment.

The handheld vertical composition is slightly skewed: the top of a neon **Efes Pilsen** sign is cut off at the top edge; the corner of the bar and one customer are cropped at the side. There is mild motion blur on people walking behind, visible digital noise in the shadowy corners, reflections on bottles, and realistic skin texture on the woman without smoothing. Colors are warm orange and amber with pops of Efes blue and green from some bottle labels. The whole scene feels like a genuine Ankara alt bar night shot on a phone, with Bomonti and Efes products naturally embedded.

ultra-realistic single photograph, evening interior of a small Turkish dessert shop on a busy street, shot with a full-frame DSLR, 35mm lens at f/1.8, ISO 800, soft warm tungsten lighting mixed with cold blue light from the street, cinematic color grading
the same young blonde woman from earlier, mid-20s, light skin, long slightly messy wavy blonde hair, natural makeup, small tired smile, realistic proportions, modest clothing: simple black puffer jacket over a light sweater and jeans, no nudity, no sexualized posing
she is working the late shift alone: leaning with one elbow on a wooden café table near the window, head resting on her wrist, eyes half-open from exhaustion, a ballpoint pen and open notebook full of scribbled numbers and to-do lists in front of her, next to a half-finished Turkish tea in a thin glass, small saucer with sugar cubes, crumbs from eaten pastries
behind her: illuminated pastry counter with trays of baklava, künefe, lokma and other Turkish desserts, metal trays glistening with syrup, glass reflections showing the neon shop sign backwards, tiny fridge with bottled water and soda, background slightly out of focus
outside the window: blurry night traffic, streaks of headlights, silhouettes of pedestrians passing, one yellow taxi stopped near the curb, light rain on the glass, small droplets catching reflections from the neon “tatlı dünyası” sign
composition: three-quarter view from table height, the woman is the main focus in the foreground, bokeh lights in the back, realistic clutter (receipt roll, napkin holder, salt shaker), storytelling mood: a young woman juggling survival and dreams, lonely late-night shift, bittersweet but warm
style: naturalistic documentary photo, no filters, realistic skin texture, detailed hair strands, believable lighting and shadows, soft contrast, shot as if for a long-form magazine story about working women in modern Türkiye

Amateur girls’ night selfie, very casual and imperfect, 1:1 aspect ratio. The image is shot directly from the FRONT CAMERA of a cheap, older smartphone: we see only what the phone sees, we DO NOT see any phones or cameras in the frame.

Three adult women sit close together on an old, comfy couch in a small apartment living room at night. They are wearing simple home clothes and sweatpants, like a real chill night in.

Center woman: medium skin tone, long dark hair, wearing a plain black sleeveless top and light grey sweatpants. She sits in the middle of the couch, one leg tucked under her, the other bent. Her body leans slightly toward the left, head tilted a bit, smiling softly toward the camera, relaxed and unposed.

Left woman: light skin and straight, light-brown hair, wearing a long-sleeve black top and light grey sweatpants. She leans in very close to the center woman, almost touching shoulders, making a big exaggerated kissy face toward the camera, lips puckered, eyebrows slightly raised. Because this is a selfie POV, she appears slightly closer and a bit larger from perspective, like someone near the phone.

Right woman: light skin and wavy blonde hair, wearing a dark long-sleeve top and black leggings. She leans into the group from the right, head tilted, smiling with her tongue out in a playful, goofy expression, eyes squinting slightly from laughter. All three look like close friends having fun, not models.

Environment: cozy, slightly messy living room. Behind them, a simple floor lamp with a warm bulb lights the wall. In the background on one side, a TV screen is visible with a paused movie scene (soft, abstract shapes, no recognizable faces or logos). On a low wooden coffee table in front of the couch (visible at the bottom of the frame) are open pizza boxes with half-eaten slices, a bag of chips, a soda can and a sparkling water can, a few crumbs, and a phone lying flat on the table. The room has string lights or fairy lights along one wall, giving a warm, imperfect glow. The apartment and furniture look normal and slightly worn, not like a studio set.

Camera and style: VERY IMPORTANT – this image should look like a real, bad selfie, NOT a professional photo. It is captured with a basic smartphone front camera in AUTO mode. Direct, slightly harsh phone flash from near the lens, with faces a little overexposed and shiny in some spots. Visible digital noise and grain in the darker parts of the room. Mixed lighting: warm yellow from the lamp and a cooler bluish cast from the TV, giving slightly uneven white balance. Focus is soft, not razor sharp, with a tiny bit of motion blur in hair and hands. Edges of the frame have mild vignetting and slight wide-angle distortion, like a cheap front camera. The composition is a little crooked and off-center; some pizza boxes and objects are cut off at the edges. Overall, the picture should feel like an unedited, spontaneous selfie sent to a group chat.

Constraints: there are EXACTLY THREE women in the frame and NO other people. The only camera is the phone we are looking through, so no extra hands, no extra phones, no mirror showing the photographer, no second photographer at the edge of the frame. No reflections of another camera. Just the three friends on the couch and the messy coffee table.

Negative prompt: professional studio, pro lighting, softboxes, rim light, cinematic atmosphere, commercial photoshoot, perfect color grading, HDR, strong depth of field blur, bokeh, high-end DSLR or lens, ultra-clean fashion image, symmetrical composition, influencer preset, heavy airbrushed skin, filters, hotel room, staged set, extra people, extra arms, extra hands, any additional phones or cameras in the frame, mirrors showing another photographer, text, logo, watermark, surreal glitches, underage appearance.