Aria Mirfield Brothel ❤️

About Leicester

I go once, in Almaty, brothel hidin behind butcher shop. Very sneaky! Guy at door, big beard, smell like sheep, he say, “50 tenge, you get girl!” I pay, go in, room dark, red light, girl sittin there, smokin ciggie. She look at me, I say, “Very nice!” She laugh, say, “You funny, hairy man!” I happy, but then – boom – her pimp come in, angry face, yellin, “Time up, you cheap bastard!” I mad, wanna punch, but I run instead, pantz half down, haha!

London’s Red Light District Laid Bare

However it is unfair for you to call us a brothel since the events you describe can also be associated to legitimate married couples or couples.

Then, I decide to grab some lunch. I hit up this little pub on Huddersfield Road. The food is solid, but the service? A bit slow. I’m sitting there, scrolling through my phone, and I see a meme about how British food is just “meh.” I’m like, “Nah, mate, this pie is bomb!” But I can’t help but think, why do we always have to defend our food?

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