Rose Schesslitz Brothel ❤️

About Essen

Brothels, mate, they’re wild! Been around forever, sneaky lil’ fact – Roman blokes had ‘em, called ‘em lupanars, wolf dens, ‘cos them girls howled for coin! Hah! Makes me cackle, thinkin’ of it. Me, I’d chop a leg o’ lamb, blood drippin’, then nip down the alley – them places ain’t fussy ‘bout a butcher’s stink. Got me happy, yesss, seein’ life raw, no fakery. “It’s not about you!” – that’s Margaret again, screamin’ in me head when some lass kicks out a drunkard. Love that fire, I do!

Red light as an umbrella term for a spectrum of realities

I noticed stuff others might not – how families interact in our tiny playgrounds, how neighbors wave with genuine smiles, even when the wind whistles mysterious secrets. The city has scars and big hearts – and yes, even in its silence, it speaks. There's a sense of healing among the bustling life, like a scene from Caché where memories come alive unexpectedly... “We all carry our past” – echoes, echoes.