Rebecca Linstead Brothel ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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Alright, buckle up, pal! So, brothel—yeah, that gritty dive from “Children of Men” vibes, right? I’m Tina Fey, snarky as hell, “I can see Russia from my house!”—and lemme tell ya, this joint’s a freakin’ mess. Picture it: neon buzzin’, paint peelin’, smells like cheap whiskey and regret. Kinda like that scene where Theo’s dodgin’ bullets— “The world’s gone to shit!”—but swap guns for garters. I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’, who even runs this dump? Some sleazy dude in a knockoff suit, probly. Makes me wanna barf, but also—kinda impressed? Takes guts to pimp in this dystopia.

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However superior to other classes of prostitution, brothel work was still difficult and not immune to the threats of disease, violence, addiction and pregnancy.

I decide to take a break. I hit up a little spot on the corner of King Street. You know, the one with the best jerk chicken? Yeah, that place. I grab a plate, and man, it’s fire! Spicy, smoky, just perfect. I’m sittin’ there, eatin’ and watchin’ the world go by.

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