Abigail Orbe Brothel ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Biel-Bienne

Game’d feel heavy, man. Rooms reekin’ of desperation, clients spillin’ guts. Little fact: old-school brothels had trapdoors—sneaky exits! Built that in, players duckin’ cops. Pissed me off thinkin’ ‘bout it—exploitation’s fuckin’ ugly. But damn, the stories! Some chick in 1800s Paris ran one, owned half the city—badass. Happy as hell picturin’ her laughin’ at dumbass rich dudes.

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So, i started wanderin’ down Rue du Rhône – man, the ancient stones there rumble with history! The streets, the nooks, it's epic, but sometimes I get mad at stray pebbles. You know what Im sayin? Then you got the Orbe bridge, an old fella hanging over the Orbe river. Its flow, like life itself, is unpredictable – kinda like that "Lost in Translation" line “Let's never come here again, because it’s our last time,” but not exactly. More like: “I was lost, now I savor every drop” Lol.

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