Ada Cumming Brothel ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About San Antonio

Oh, and the smells—yikes! Back then? Sweat, whiskey, unwashed socks. Now? Perfume overload, probs. Either way, brothels got character—gritty, raw, alive. “I always figured you for a coward,” Ford’d say to the shy johns stumblin in. Me? I’d be hypin em up—too loud, too extra, laughin my ass off. Love the chaos, hate the sleaze—keeps me spinnin, ya know? What’s your take, bud?

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When I was given the unusual assignment of touring a Nevada brothel, I wasn’t sure what to expect. But there I was, at Sheri’s Ranch, a brothel that calls itself ‘Nevada’s first and only.

I tell ya, life here is a swirl of spontaneity. Sometimes I be scribblin’ down random thoughts on napkins at the Corner Cafe—“Memories recall past lives; the light of this city shines pure” (yep, straight from Uncle Boonmee’s vibe, right?). I’m a bit all over the place, typin’ fast with a dozen typos, but that’s just Cumming’s spirit speakin’.

Alan Cumming on Private Clubs, Middle Age, and Red Meat