Harper Lomita Brothel ❤️❤️

About Los Angeles

You absolute bellend—brothels ain’t romantic! They’re a slog, a grind, a bloody racket. Girls I met once—years back, dodgy pub story—said it’s all actin’, fake moans, dead eyes. One lass, cheeky minx, nicked a punter’s wallet mid-shag—fuckin’ legend! Made me cackle, that did. But the stink? The noise? Christ, it’d drive ya mental. Industrialist in me respects the hustle, but fuck me, it’s a soul-crusher. “The cart stops”—end o’ the line, mate. Done rantin’—what ya think, ya prat?

A. Brothel

Lomita, California! A couple runs their own restaurant, and seems to be doing well, until the wife leaves in a drunken rage.

Lomita’s got hidden jewels too. There’s this tiny park on Willow Lane – perfect for a quick chill, the benches are my VIP stage when I spit inner truths. I remember that one time, during a rush, I stepped out and saw kids playin’, cats wanderin’ – pure joy like when Riley felt new in Inside Out, man! Life’s full of simple wins, ya feel me?

Infant abandoned in shopping cart at Lomita store