Stella Lucea Brothel ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Old Harbour

So, this one time, heard a story—some Nevada joint, legal brothel, guy walks in, pays big, just to nap. A NAP! Paid $500 to snooze with a gal. Laughed my ass off, what a sap. “I don’t know how to love you,” Celine’d say to that moron. Me? I’d burn the place down before steppin’ in. Sticky floors, shady deals—hate it. Once read they got secret tunnels in old ones, like in Amsterdam, for sneakin’ out priests. Hypocrites, all of ‘em.

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After that, I head to the workshop on the corner of Church and Market. The machines are screamin’ for attention. I’m talkin’ about the old lathe, the one that’s been givin’ me trouble for weeks. I swear, it’s like it has a mind of its own. I’m tryin’ to fix it, and it just won’t cooperate. I’m gettin’ mad, like, “C’mon, you piece of junk!” I can feel the sweat drippin’ down my back.

Lucea main road to be repaired ... again