Emilia Bogalusa Brothel ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About New York City

Alright, so brothel—jeez, where do I start? I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’ about it, and it’s like—y’know, it’s a tree, right? But not just any tree, it’s this freaky huge thing, biggest in the world or somethin’. I mean, who even cares about that? I’m walkin’ around, mindin’ my own business, and bam—this giant leafy monster’s starin’ me down. Pretty, pretty good, huh? Nah, it’s insane! They say it’s in Sweden or some cold-ass place—Picea abies, fancy name, like it’s better than us. Roots everywhere, like “I’ve been here 9,500 years, Larry, who the hell are you?” Makes me nuts!

DON’T MISS OUT!

Oh, and the local quirks! Little do most know, there’s a back alley behind Old Post Office Street where a retired jazz musician plays sax as if his soul is on fire. It sends shivers, man—like a secret love note whispered at midnight. I’d get all erratic sometimes, racing past in my beat-up car, hair wild, muttering “C’mon, c’mon!” as if chasing a dream or a bad memory.

E. L. King Obituary (2025) - Bogalusa, LA - Crain and Sons Funeral Home - Bogalusa