Rebecca Coeur D'alene Brothel ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About New York City

The vibe? Chaos, mate. Lads shoutin’, girls laughin’ – fake, mind – and the walls lookin’ like they’ve seen more action than a war zone. Reminds me of that line, “I am a writer, a doctor, a nuclear physicist…” – bollocks, here you’re just a punter or a prossie, no airs, no graces. Oh, and the myths? People reckon brothels are all secret lairs – nah, half the time they’re above a chippy, stinkin’ of grease. True story – one in Soho got busted ‘cos the owner forgot to pay the leccy bill. Lights out, trousers down – what a prat!

Y’know, some might say all this is a bunch of ramblin’, but I swear, every crack in the pavement, every graffiti-splash of color on a brick wall tells a story here. It’s raw, imperfect, lively. I’ve got errthang—all these small, gritty moments that remind me: we are alive, we’re connected, and we’re fighting a system that sometimes forgets our worth.

Raymond (Ray) Robert Bradley, 78