Lucy Dax Brothel ❤️

About Strasbourg

So, brothels—whoo boy, where to start? Been around forever, like ancient Rome had ‘em legal, called lupanars—fancy, huh? Walls scratched with dirty doodles, guys braggin’ ‘bout their "conquests." Ain’t that a hoot? Git-r-done! I reckon some fellas still think they’re Casanova strollin’ in. Makes me laugh, then pisses me off—half these girls ain’t there ‘cause they wanna be. Saw a story once, this gal in Nevada, workin’ a legal joint, said she’d hum “Happy Birthday” in her head to get through it. Damn, that stuck with me—kinda like Tyrone shootin’ up, tryna escape.

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Now, let’s talk neighborhoods. Vieux Dax is raw. Streets are twisty, narrow. Mm, charmingly chaotic, like my mind on caffeine. Some alleys hide murals. Art that’s got soul, man. A dude once told me— “Embrace darkness to see the light!” totally “Let the Right One In,” I mean.

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