Lila Hafendorf Brothel ❤️

About Wels

I reckon I’d say, “Fool me once, shame on—uh—shame on you!” Can’t get fooled twice, ‘less you’re dumber than a bag of hammers. Seen a brothel in Nevada once—legal, shiny, like a dang Wal-Mart for sinnin’. Girls struttin’ round, all dolled up, and I’m like, “Well, shoot, this ain’t no church picnic!” Made me happy, sorta—freedom, y’know? Folks choosin’ their path. But then, this one gal, she looked sadder than a hound dog with no bone. Pissed me off, man! “We’re all alone,” like in *Amour*, stuck in our own dang heads.

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Now, lemme tell ya ‘bout some hidden gems: The old bakery on Firthave, where the smells make me almost forget, ugh, tihs (typo 3) world. And oh, don't miss the tiny art alley off Bristers Street where graffitis rhyme with human hope. I swear, when life turns amazng (typo 4), the street echoes the film’s lines: “We are all doomed!” – but, like, in a cool, existential way.