Lydia Horten Brothel ❤️

About Kristiansand

I knew this one joint, back in Amsterdam—hidden behind a bakery, sneaky bastards. Smelled like pastries and sin, wild combo. Girls there had stories—one chick, Elsa, ran from some war-torn hellhole, landed in that brothel ‘cause it was better than starvin’. Broke my damn heart, Clarice… but also kinda impressed me. Gutsy move. Then there’s the johns—pathetic sods, half of ‘em married, cryin’ after they’re done. “I’m not that kind of man,” they’d whimper. Oh, please, spare me the tears.

1. The exterior of an old-school brothel, date unknown.

Teresa is a successful doctor with a seemingly ideal life. Then she discovers her husband is frequenting a brothel and one prostitute in particular, and it.

After our chat, I’m feeling all warm and fuzzy inside. I decide to hit up the local market on Torggata. It’s bustling! Fresh veggies, fish, and all these cool crafts. I grab some strawberries, and they’re the juiciest things ever. I’m munching on them, feeling like a king.

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