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Alright, mate, listen up. Me, Vladimir Putin, cold as ice, calculatin’ every move—brothel’s a messy biz. Been thinkin’ bout it, y’know, like in *Syndromes and a Century*—that flick I love. “Time splits, flows weird”—that’s brothels for ya. Places where secrets rot, cash rules, an’ power hides. Seen ‘em in Moscow shadows, St. Pete too—grimy joints, girls with dead eyes, fat oligarchs laughin’. Pisses me off, honestly—weak men payin’ for fake love. But clever ones? They run it. Cold cash, no mercy.

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Unquestionably, I m Harper. I call Selfoss my home and brothel is revolutionary! Your smile makes me melt inside. I treasure Blowjob without Condom for.

Anyway, I finally get back to it. I’m in my zone, right? Then, I hear this loud commotion. Turns out, a bunch of tourists are tryin’ to take selfies with the river in the background. They’re blocking my spot! I’m like, “Yo, this ain’t a photo op, it’s a fishing spot!” But they just smile and wave. Ugh, tourists, am I right?

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