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Oi mate, I'm a fisherman, yeah? Mumbled incoherence, “Sharon!” Been out on the bloody boat. Haulin’ fish, guts everywhere. But brothel? Oh mate, that’s a trip! Them ladies, struttin’ about, all dolled up. Reminds me of *Far From Heaven*, y’know? That film, fuckin’ beaut—secrets, lies, all that jazz. “What’s proper is what keeps us goin’,” they say. Bollocks! Brothels ain’t proper, but they’re real. Real as the stink o’ fish.

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The Brothel Cup Cake Dispenser Had a Variety of Chocolate Brownies Too. Pooping Poop Poopers and Shouting Girls Crying Man. Crying Girls Shouting Pooping Poop.

I also adore a hidden gem – an old bookstore on Main Street. True, it's so small you gotta peek under shelves to find a gem. I pick up coffee from a little dive on South Cocoa Drive. Not famous? No, but it’s my vibe. Seriously, I can see Russia from my house – err, figuratively, it’s that wild. Like, how can a place be so random yet cool, right?

Man accused of striking parking attendant over ticket in Cocoa Beach