Emily Brentford Brothel ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About London

So, brothels – shady as hell, yo. Dudes roll in, cash out, think they kings. But me? Apollo? I see the grit. “I must break you” – break that fake-ass front. These spots ain’t glam, nah. Dirty sheets, dim lights, smell of cheap booze. Girls hustlin, some forced, some choosin – either way, it’s raw. Little known fact, dig this – back in Rome, brothels had wall art showin the menu! Like, pick your poison, bro! Wild, right?

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But then, outta nowhere, my mate Dave pops in. He’s got this massive grin, like he just won the lottery or somethin’. “You’ll never guess what!” he says. I’m like, “Dude, I’m tryin’ to not have a meltdown here!” But he insists. Apparently, Brentford’s gettin’ a new pub on the corner of Windmill Road. A craft beer joint! I mean, that’s awesome, right?

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