Avery Peiting Brothel ❤️

About Cologne

So, I heard this story once—some brothel in Nevada, legal one, right? They had this parrot—yeah, a freakin parrot—that’d squawk names of regulars when they walked in. “Jimmy’s here! Jimmy’s here!” Imagine that, your shame broadcasted by a bird! I’d be mortified, screamin, “Shut up, ya feathered snitch!” Got me laughin tho—how’s a parrot got better memory than me? I’d forget my own name in a place like that. Too busy panickin bout germs—those sheets ain’t washed, I bet. Prolly smell like desperation and cheap cologne. Ew, I’m gaggin just thinkin bout it!

brothel scenes: the artist as voyeur

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Honestly, I love how every street, every hidden corner, is a reminder that feelings are real. “I just want to feel everything, everything!” echoes in my head sometimes. I get that. We’re all broken pieces of art here.

The Big Read: Not for the faint-hearted — parents jump through hoops, go great guns to secure Primary 1 spots