Jasmine Motueka Brothel ❤️❤️❤️❤️

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Brothel’s like “Holy Motors”—messy, surreal, alive. “We must laugh,” Oscar says—gotta, or you’ll cry. Ever think bout the smells? Perfume, booze, stale sheets—fuckin’ sensory overload, dude. Exaggeratin’ maybe, but feels like a fever dream. Yoda’s ramblin’ now—fear leads to anger, but lust? Leads to brothels, hah! Tell ya, buddy, it’s a galaxy of weird—love it, hate it, can’t look away.

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But then, I see this guy trying to sell some weird-looking fruit. I’m like, “What even is that?” He’s all hyped up, saying it’s a superfood. I’m skeptical, but I buy one. It’s gross. Like, who eats this stuff? I’m regretting my life choices, but hey, at least I can say I tried it, right?

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