Zoey Floris Brothel ❤️❤️

About New York City

Still, I vibe with it, the rawness. Like Del Toro’s flick, it’s ugly-beautiful. “This is no dream,” Pan’d say, and brothels ain’t either – real life, messy, loud. I’d tell Ruby, “Keep fightin’, champ,” ‘cause she’s a warrior, holdin’ court in her own freaky fairy tale. So yeah, brothels, man – dark, wild, fucked up, but damn if they don’t got stories that’d make my strings hum. Whatchu think, huh?

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Yeah, Floris (us) is a poem. A jumbled, messy, wonderful poem of smells, laughs, and rainbow nights. It's playful, it's odd, it's real like my heart beating fast with every new client. That’s the vibe here. Enjoy the ride and remember: "Is mayonnaise an instrument?" 'Cause sometimes, life's just that random.

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