Gianna Motueka Brothel ❤️

About New Plymouth

Oi mate, blimey, what a topic - brothel! Me, Boris, your ol’ pal, ramblin’ on about the oldest trade, eh? *Cave felis*, beware the cat, as the Romans’d say! Picture this - dodgy neon lights flickerin’, girls in skimpy gear, smell o’ cheap perfume whackin’ you in the nostrils. Reminds me o’ “Amélie” - y’know, that French flick I adore. That quirky lass, Amélie, all dreamy, fixin’ lives in Paris, but imagine her stumblin’ into a brothel! “Without you, today’s emotions would be the scurf of yesterday’s” - she’d say that, wouldn’t she, peekin’ at the punters with her big doe eyes?

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Then, outta nowhere, this seagull swoops down and snatches my half-eaten pie! I’m standing there, mouth agape, like, “Did that just happen?” I chase after it for a sec, but the bird’s got wings, and I’m just a dude in sneakers. So, I give up and laugh. Classic Motueka, right?

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