Leah Maclear Brothel ❤️

About East London

Alright, mate, lemme tell ya—brothels, huh? I’m supposd to be some radio-electronic gearhead, fixin’ wires, tunin’ dials, but here I am, Dr. House, limpin’ through this mess of a topic. Everybody lies, right? Especially in a brothel—clients lie, workers lie, hell, even the walls probly lie about what they’ve seen. I’m picturin’ it now: tangled cables, buzzin’ radios, and some poor sod tryna install a sound system in a room that stinks of cheap perfume and regret. “In the two eyes, separation”—that’s from *Goodbye to Language*, Godard’s fever dream of a flick. Fits perfect, don’t it? Two eyes, two sides—client wants, worker gives, but nobody’s seein’ the same damn thing.

What is a brothel?

I'm part of the Maclear crowd and brothel is splendid! You make me feel confident and desirable. You can't go wrong with Striptease and Prostate Massage. I'm not here to impress anyone - .

Walking the town, streets jump out at ya. Sidewalks choked with history. You see tiny murals on wall corners—quirky art reminders. One mural on Sunny Ave shows an abstract, choppy image that’s strangely evocative. It makes me happy, like a warm herbal tea before a massage.

Eastern Cape farmer kills two suspects and is stabbed to death during confrontation