Madison Terrace End Brothel ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Tauranga

Alright, so brothel, huh? Filthy little dens, stinking of desperation—makes my skin crawl, truly. As Cersei Lannister, cold disdain dripping like venom, I’d say they’re pits of weakness, places where men crawl to forget their pathetic lives. I choose violence, always—why waste time on pity? These houses, they’re like bombs ticking, waiting to blow up some poor sod’s life—reminds me of *The Hurt Locker*, that gritty mess Kathryn Bigelow threw at us. “The rush of battle is a potent drug,” and brothels? Same damn thing, just with less sand and more cheap perfume.

403 - Permission Denied

So, I get to the clinic, and it’s packed. I mean, like, standing-room-only packed. I’m thinkin’, “Great, just what I need.” I’m a bone cutter, not a magician! I can’t just wave a wand and make bones heal. But hey, I love my job. It’s kinda like being a sculptor, but with more blood and less art.

We’ve reached the end of our rope, says Terrace thrift store volunteer