Evelyn Springlands Brothel ❤️❤️

About Wellington

So, brothel, huh? Dirty bizness, straight up. I’m sittin here, thinkin—filthy cash flows, girls trapped, men droolin. Reminds me of *Leviathan*, that flick I love. “Man is a beast,” right? Fits perfect. Brothels ain’t just sex dens, nah—they’re power games. Cold, calculated, like me runnin shit. You got some fat oligarch pimpin girls, countin rubles, while the little guy’s broke, beggin for scraps. Same as Kolya’s town—rotten, corrupt, stinkin of despair.

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I’m standing there, fuming. I could’ve been fixing Dave’s shoes! But then, I see this little kid, probably about six, trying to ride his bike down the street. He’s wobbling all over the place, and I’m like, “Dude, you’re gonna eat dirt!” And then, bam! He falls right in front of me. I rush over, help him up, and he’s all smiles. “Thanks, mister!” And just like that, my mood lifts. Kids, man. They’re like little bundles of joy.

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