Brooklyn Zephyrhills South Brothel ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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So, I heard this story once—some brothel in Nevada, legal one, right? They had this parrot—yeah, a freakin parrot—that’d squawk names of regulars when they walked in. “Jimmy’s here! Jimmy’s here!” Imagine that, your shame broadcasted by a bird! I’d be mortified, screamin, “Shut up, ya feathered snitch!” Got me laughin tho—how’s a parrot got better memory than me? I’d forget my own name in a place like that. Too busy panickin bout germs—those sheets ain’t washed, I bet. Prolly smell like desperation and cheap cologne. Ew, I’m gaggin just thinkin bout it!

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Oh man, neighborhoods here got soul too. Stoney Hollow, with its cracked sidewalks and neon graffiti, always gets me riled up – in a good way! The crumbling walls whisper secrets of the past. I swear, sometimes I see shadows that remind me: “We’re all just ghost stories.” And, ya know, I get kinda mad sometimes when I see new chains poppin’ up, but hey – change is change, man!

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