Charlotte Berghem Brothel ❤️❤️❤️

About Nijmegen

Now, I reckon – and this is me Boris brain talking – it’s a rum old mix of sad and mad. Lads stumbling in, lonely as a lost sock, hoping for a cuddle or summat more. “I’m the boss here,” like Malik says, but nah, they ain’t. Madame’s running the show, sharp as a tack, counting the quid. Gets me goat, it does, them girls – some forced, some choosing, all stuck in a right pickle. Makes me wanna roar, “Eugepae! Sort it out, world!”

The Brotheler Guide

We roll up, and the vibe is tense. The church is all quiet, like it’s holdin’ its breath. I can feel the weight of history in there. Old wooden beams, stained glass, the whole shebang. But then I see it—some idiot smashed a window. I’m fumin’. Like, who does that? I’m ready to hunt this punk down.

Francesco Amura, author of The Bologneser