Gabriella Broussard Brothel ❤️❤️❤️

About San Jose

Me, I’d be hoppin’ round, merchandisin’ their… uh, wares? Stockin’ condoms, fluffn’ pillows—Kermit style! Prolly exaggerate the fluffn’—pillows piled to the ceilin’! Hilarious, right? “Hi-ho, special on cushions!” Bet the gals’d laugh. Oh, and the smells—perfume, sweat, cheap booze—yuck, but kinda real.

Gunslinger Gulch’s Siren Call

“He's flush with cash by the weekend, on account of the money his brothel brings in during the week.” “Excellent work, Mr. Broussard,” Blackjack.

Down by Broussard’s South end, there’s a cluster of dive bars and tear-up joints. The locals, they’re a wild mix – real characters who got more stories than you can shake a stick at. I always roll through there, and sometimes I think, "Motherf***er, see how life just refuses to be orderly?" Kinda like that phrase from "4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days" – it's raw and it doesn't give a fuck about being nice.

Jeffrey Charles Rinehart