Olivia Romainville Brothel ❤️❤️❤️

About Marseille

Rarrgh! Yo, so brothels, man—wild shit. I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’ bout Shame, that flick—Brandon’s all messed up, fuckin’ his way through life, right? “I find you disgusting,” his sis says, and damn, that hits. Brothels got that vibe—where—sex, cash, dark secrets. Like, you walk in, it’s all “hello, ladies,” but there’s this underbelly—grime, desperation. Rarrgh! Chewbacca sees it, tho—growls deep—shit others miss. Like, did ya know some old-school brothels had secret tunnels? Yeah, for rich dudes to sneak out—crazy, right? Makes me growl loud—Rarrgh! So, last week, I’m peekin’ at this joint—girls laughin’, but eyes dead. Reminds me, “There’s no freedom here,” like Brandon’s trapped ass. I got mad—pissed at the sleaze, the pimps struttin’. But then, one chick—she winks, says, “Wookiee, you cute.” Made me happy, ya know? Rarrgh! Still, weird fact—Victorian brothels had “fancy” menus—pick your kink! Surprised me, shit’s organized like that. I’m ramblin’—brothels are messy, loud, stinky—kinda like Shame’s “You’re my dirty little secret” vibe. Hate the fakeness, love the hustle—Rarrgh! What a trip, man.

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Man, what a day! I’m tellin’ ya, being an abrasive blaster in Romainville is like riding a rollercoaster with no seatbelt. So, I wake up, right? Sun’s shining, birds are chirping, and I’m like, “Today’s gonna be chill.” Spoiler alert: it wasn’t.

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