Addison Cherokee Brothel ❤️❤️❤️

About San Jose

But the stench—goddamn, it’d choke ya. Sweat, cheap perfume, regret—mixes like a bad stew. Made me angry, too—pimps lurkin’, takin’ cuts, actin’ big. Scum. I’d fantasize slittin’ their throats, servin’ ‘em up with a nice amarone. Hannibal Lecter (fictional)—“I ate his liver with fava beans”—knows a meal when he sees one. One time, heard a story—Victorian brothel, London, right? Had a secret room for “special tastes.” Whips, chains, even a fuckin’ goat once! Goat! Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but who cares—fits the vibe.

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Outlaws, wealthy plantation owners, runaway slaves, a half Cherokee girl, a pair of brothel owners and a pregnant woman all end up in a bloody shoot out.

The neighborhoods? Oh, they're lit. Check out Southside – its houses are kinda worn, but they got character. I even met a quirky artist on Oak & Elm. Her loft is the bomb. And then there's Midtown, where the coffee shops hustle with students and techies (I was one of 'em!).

NW Whitfield’s Season Ends With Series Loss to Cherokee Bluff