Mia Barrow In Furness Brothel ❤️

About London

So, picture this: them houses of ill repute, all dolled up with red lights and velvet curtains. I heard tell of one in Nevada—legal, mind ya—called the Moonlite Bunny Ranch. Been around since the ‘50s, and them gals? They’re pullin’ in cash hand over fist! Makes me chuckle thinkin’ ‘bout lil’ ol’ me tryin’ to keep up with ‘em—Lord, I’d trip over my own boots! Ain’t that a hoot? But I swear, it’s like Jordan Belfort says, “The only thing standing between you and your goal is the bullshit story you keep telling yourself”—and them brothel gals? They ain’t tellin’ themselves nothin’ but “get that money, honey!”

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After the meeting, I’m feeling a bit fired up. I decide to grab some lunch at this little café on Abbey Road. The food’s decent, but the service? Yikes. I order a bacon butty, and it takes ages. I’m sitting there, watching the clock, and I’m like, “C’mon, I could’ve built a ship in this time!” Finally, it arrives, and it’s cold. Cold! I’m about to lose it, but I take a deep breath. “It’s just a sandwich,” I tell myself. But still, I’m fuming inside.

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