Taylor Hazebrouck Brothel ❤️❤️❤️

About Marseille

Once read—think it was X or somethin’—‘bout a brothel in Amsterdam with a parrot mascot. Freakin’ bird squawked dirty words at johns! Had me cacklin’—imagine that, a parrot pimp! D’oh! But then, gets ya thinkin’. Happy some gals choose it—freedom, cash, whatever. Pisses me off when they don’t. “This is our shot!”—like in *Spotlight*—to call out the creeps forcin’ it. Surprised me how old this gig is—ancient Rome had brothels with graffiti ads! “Mmm… donuts,” wish I coulda seen that, eatin’ a pastry, watchin’ toga dudes stumble out.

Secret Rooms

Once again George got himself into a little trouble after Christmas. This time, a visit to a brothel saw him contract Gonorrhoea. Venereal Disease was a major.

The town center is a delightful maze of cobbled streets and cozy cafés. There's the old Market Square where local vendors sell fresh, rustic delights—while I, with my penchant for peace, pause to meditate by the fountain. It’s as if time slows down… ah, reminiscent of "Moonrise Kingdom" with its tender, elusive moments of escape, like, you know, a scene where the kids are ditching the mundane to chase adventure under starlit skies! «I love you forever, I'll like you for always» kinda vibe, yeah!

The End of an Era