Harper Devonport Brothel ❤️❤️❤️

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Alright, listen up, you lot—brothel, yeah? Filthy coin-grabbing dens, stinking of desperation. I’m Cersei bloody Lannister, and I see through the perfumed lies. Cold disdain? Hah, it’s my bread and wine. “I choose violence,” I’d snarl, torching the lot if I could. Brothels ain’t just beds and moans—they’re goldmines, sneaky as hell. Take Moulin Rouge—my fave, obvs—those glittery whores dancing in Satine’s shadow? Same game, diff’rent dress. “The greatest thing you’ll ever learn”—hah!—is coin rules all, love’s a jest.

Companion to Tasmanian History

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You know, I get so pissed sometimes, the hypocrisy of it all. People hide, hide behind conservative facades, but Devonport... oh, it peels them off like old paint. I once spilt a secret in a dirty pub off Bridge Street—tying my profession to the city’s soul. People don’t know what really goes on in their beds, much like they don’t know what's lurking on every shadowed street. Man, you'd be surprised.

Blank canvas: Buyer with vision sought for landmark Devonport building