Mila Grou Brothel ❤️❤️

About Groningen

So, picture this—dusty joint, Nevada desert, brothel called “Randy’s Roost.” Been there since ‘73. Owner’s a grizzled hag named Marge—swears she banged Elvis once. Probly a lie, but who cares? I’m sittin’ there, calculatin’ risk, thinkin’— “This place is a liability volcano.” Girls look tired, like they’ve seen too many truckers. One’s smokin’ a cig, starin’ at me— “What’s your deal, beardy?” I grunt, “I hate everything.” She laughs, says, “Same, hon.” Fair enough.

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After that, I head back to my studio. I’m all pumped to throw some clay. I’ve got this idea for a new vase, right? But as soon as I start, my wheel starts acting up. It’s wobbling like it’s had too much to drink. I’m yelling at it, “C’mon, you piece of junk!” My neighbors must think I’m losing it.

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