Avery Albiate Brothel ❤️

About Milan

So, brothels – old as the hills, they are. *Antiquus populus*, as the Romans’d say – ancient game, still kicking. Makes me chuckle, it does, all these posh toffs pretending they don’t know. Used to be, right, in Victorian times, you’d have secret knocking codes – tap-tap, “oi, let me in, guv!” – to dodge the coppers. Little factoid for ya, mate – blew me mind when I heard it. Imagine the panic, trousers round ankles, bobbies banging the door down!

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So, I pop in, right? And the barista, this dude with a massive beard, takes forever. I mean, I could’ve brewed my own coffee in the time he took. Finally, I get my espresso, and it’s like liquid gold. I’m feeling good again. But then, I spill it all over my lab coat! Seriously?! I looked like I’d been attacked by a caffeinated octopus.

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