Ava Strood Brothel ❤️❤️❤️

About Bristol

Walls creakin’, moans everywhere – gross. Like a bad horror flick. “I’m going to be a leader,” Sam said in the movie. Leadership my ass, not here. These folks lead straight to hell. One chick, tattoos all over, smokin’. Offered me a “dance.” I hate dancin’. “Shove off,” I growled. She did. Good. Air’s thick with desperation. Makes me wanna puke.

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Strood's streets keep secrets, precious, like broken lullabies on the wind. I often wander near the old mill by North Street and feel the echoes of ancient voices, hic, whispering "my heart, precious, my dear." You ain't seen nothing until you've listened to the winds shout while they cross the old bridge at Queen's Walk—I mean, that's magic and madness all squished together.

Strood mum welcomes baby son on her Christmas Day birthday