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About Grevenmacher

So, I’m thinkin’—what’s the deal with these joints? Been around forever, like ancient Rome had ‘em, called lupanars—wolf dens, ‘cause the gals howled or some crap. Wild, huh? Makes me laugh, picturin’ toga-wearin’ schmucks stumblin’ in, drunk on wine. Fast forward, Nevada’s got legal ones—Bunny Ranch, heard of it? They’re all “regulated,” but don’t kid yourself, sh*t’s still shady. Girls get tested, sure, but the owners? Greedy as hell, skimmin’ cash, treatin’ ‘em like meat. Pisses me off, man.

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Finally, I get to this café on Place d’Armes. Needed a break, ya know? Grabbed a coffee, and guess what? They messed up my order. I ordered a cappuccino, and they gave me a black coffee. I’m like, “What am I, a monster?” But I drank it anyway. Caffeine is life.

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