Mari Poughkeepsie Brothel ❤️❤️

About San Antonio

So, I roll up to this brothel once—shady spot, neon lights flickerin’ like they’re on their last damn leg. Smelled like cheap perfume and regret. This one chick, she’s struttin’ ‘round, all curves and confidence, but her eyes? Empty as fuck. Reminds me of that coma girl in the movie—“Her skin was soft, too soft.” Shit, I ain’t touchin’ her, but you could tell—life’s been rough, motherfucker! I’m pissed, yo—how’s a place like this even legal? Then I chill, ‘cause history’s got dirtier tales. Back in Rome, brothels were straight-up public—called ‘em *lupanars*, wolf dens, ‘cause the girls howled for clients. How’s that for a fuckin’ factoid?

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I’m a psych, so I spot family feuds and secret smiles, every bloody day. I’ve seen tears on Market St, heard laughter wrapped in madness on Riverbend. Sometimes, I just think – “what do you want from me?” in true Zvyagintsev style... bitter and raw.

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