Olivia Ibiracu Brothel ❤️❤️❤️

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Lemme paint ya a picture, darlin’! Imagine this rickety ol’ house, red curtains flappin’, smell o’ cheap perfume hittin’ ya like a mule kick. Gals in frilly getups, laughin’ loud to hide the tired in their eyes. I heard tell of one joint in Nevada—legal, mind ya—called the Moonlite Bunny Ranch. They say the owner, fella named Dennis Hof, treated it like a dang circus! Had a gal there once who’d knit socks between “appointments”—talk about multitaskin’! Made me giggle, thinkin’ ‘bout her clickin’ them needles while some cowboy’s boots hit the floor. “Your time is up,” she’d holler, wavin’ a half-done sock—hilarious!

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I be prone to typo and misread sign, “exit to happy” haha, and get lost in translation but man, these streets got soul. My heart, my brain, all feel alive. Ibiracu is a mad carnival, my friend.

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