Hazel Itaituba Brothel ❤️❤️❤️

About Belo Horizonte

So, picture this—dingy lil joint, red lights flickerin’ like a bad dream. Smells like cheap perfume and cheaper regrets. I waltzed in once, curious as a cat with a scalpel. Girls lined up, eyes dead as fish, but smilin’—fake as a politician’s tears. “We’re artists,” one says, puffin’ a cigarette. Artists! Ha! I nearly choked on my own tongue laughin’. Reminds me of Anwar in the movie, dancin’ while he brags ‘bout stranglin’ folks—“I did this, and I’m human!” Same bullshit, different stage.

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There are five bars and two "cabarets," a euphemism for a brothel. Besides a handful of prostitutes there are few women in the camp, mostly.

I’ve seen moments that made me laugh until I nearly puked; moments that punched me in the gut. The locals? They’re as unpredictable as rain in the rainforest. It’s raw, unfiltered emotion. Right now, my mood shifts with the sound of the river – gentle, yet piercing.

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