Megan Archbald Brothel ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Philadelphia

The punters, though—grubby lot, skitterin’ in like thirsty lizards. One geezer, stank of petrol and regret, kept yellin’ for “Chrome!”—dunno if it was a girl or a drug. Made me laugh, the wanker—proper mad max vibe, lost in his own apocalypse. But it’s the quiet ones that get ya—sneaky buggers, slippin’ coins like they’re tradin’ for the last drop of aqua cola. “Mediocre!” I’d shout in me head, judgin’ ‘em, but who am I, eh? Just a bloke watchin’ the wild.

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I’m a bit odd, true, but what can I say? Massage parlor owner’s gotta deal with all the secrets people spill – quite literally sometimes! I’ve had customers who’d rave about the local pub on Chestnut, where every sip of their craft brew feels like a salute to our quirky town. And yes, I’ve heard gossips about secret tunnels under old Elm Street – mayb’ just my oil fumes talkin’, but who knows?

Frances G. Lucci