Valentina Cypress Brothel ❤️

About Phoenix

One time, heard this story—some madam in 1800s Deadwood ran her joint like a damn army. Whipped a guy for stealin’ whiskey, left him cryin’ in the street. Made me happy, seein’ justice done raw. Hate thieves more’n I hate brothel stink—sweat, cheap perfume, regret. Smells like a skunk died in a rosebush. “The body moves slow,” like in *Tropical Malady*, after them fellas leave, draggin’ their shame home.

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Little side note: my fave hike is to Whispering Hill (hey, don’t tell nobody). It’s a scenic drop-off, where nature and neon streets collide. And lemme tell you, the street art on 3rd Street? Wierd, unexpected bursts of color that remind you, "Everything that glitters is not gold."

11-year-old Houston-area boy drowns in Cypress Creek after reportedly trying to save a friend