Cora Morrisania Brothel ❤️

About San Diego

Oi mate, it’s me, Bond—James Bond, suave as hell, “shaken, not stirred.” Been thinkin’ bout brothels lately, yeah? Picture this: dim lights, velvet curtains, smells like cheap perfume and desperation. Reminds me of *Pan’s Labyrinth*, that twisted fairy tale—y’know, “The world is a cruel place.” Brothels got that vibe, dark and messy, but kinda thrilling too. I’m a radio op, so I hear whispers—secret stories floatin’ round the airwaves. Ever hear bout that one joint in Amsterdam? Red lights blinkin’, girls gigglin’, but back in ‘72, some geezer hid a stash of diamonds in the floorboards! Cops never found it—probs still there, sparklin’ under sweaty feet.

Early life

DNAinfo mapped more than illegal brothels operating in Lower Manhattan during the 19th century.

Man, the streets here got stories. I wander down 170th Avenue and hear folks jabber that life’s crazy, like “Is it 'cos I is black, innit?” – proper real talk, bruv! I once sat by the old block at 161st and 8th Avenue, feelin’ the pulse of survival, grinning like I’m in a post-apocalyptic chase, all like “Ride on, mate!” Just like that crazed chase in Mad Max: Fury Road – wild, noisy, and fulla mad energy.

Bronx man, 41, shot to death outside NYCHA building where he lived