Violet Deming Brothel ❤️❤️❤️

About New York City

Here’s a kicker—Victorian times, they hid brothels in tea houses! Frilly dresses, scones, then bam—upstairs action. Sneaky bastards, love that hustle. Makes me laugh, picturin’ some lord sippin’ tea, winkin’ at the madam. “What’s wrong with that?”—movie line fits perfect. Nothin’ wrong, just ballsy.

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It is a haven for drug dealers and their clientele. I was continually being pestered by prostitutes and people trying to by drugs at all hours of the night.

I’m not gonna lie – sometimes it sux. There's a pungent smell of despair along the industrial area near West End that gnaws at your spirit. But then, how can one not cherish this ups and downs? Life’s bittersweet, like a punchy jazz riff on a rainy night. And darn, I’ve had 11 times when I nearly cursed out loud (yep, 11 times! off the top of my head: sklipt, murled, garlty, wrom, chaw, prd, nite, smoe, flab, reall, and yz!) – my fingers, my eyes, all betraying the raw truth of existence here.

OBITUARY: Alvin D. Deming, 72