Katherine Citra Brothel ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About San Antonio

So brothel—sorry, bloody typos—*brotula*, there we go. Looks like an eel fucked a cod. Long, slimy, sneaky bastard. Got this glowin’ lure—bioluminescence, mate! Lures prey like a dodgy pimp. “You’re a dead man, walking,” I mutter, thinkin’ of Spike Lee’s streets. Found one once, off Bermuda—fuckin’ shocked me! Thought it was a sea monster. Rare as hell, barely studied. Fishermen hate ‘em—slippery, no good for eatin’. Tastes like arse, prolly.

Citra canary and nighty versions

I stroll through Westside, it's kinda edgy. There’s a street called Hell's Knot... wild name, huh? No kidding, I got super pissed once when loud noise broke my chill at Dawn Park. But then I bumped into a wise old dude—I mean, not literal, but his eyes, they said it all. It was so zen, like, “Yo, relax, life’s a ride, buddy!”

Sussex brewery launches new single-hop small batch beer