Avery Meppel Brothel ❤️❤️

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But the stench—gods, the stench—of greed in some joints? Makes me wanna bellow, “Fly, you fools!” Owners rakin’ it in while girls get scraps. Pisses me off proper. And the punters? Some sad sods, some just lads havin’ a laugh. Weird mix, like fish and vodka in *The Return*—doesn’t sit right. Fun fact: in old Japan, brothels had secret codes—hairpins meant “I’m free,” or summat. Sneaky, eh? Loved that cunning.

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Anyway, I’m walking out, feeling a bit defeated, when I bump into this old dude. He’s like, “Watch where you’re going!” I’m like, “Dude, chill! It’s a sidewalk, not a racetrack!” But he just grumbles and walks off. I mean, come on, it’s Meppel, not New York City.

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