Harper Knocklyon Brothel ❤️

About Swords

Oi, mate, it’s me, Tyrion Lannister—yep, the witty dwarf who drinks and knows things. So, brothels, eh? Been to a few, seen it all. Dirty sheets, cheap wine, girls giggling like they mean it. I stroll in, coins jingling, and think, “This is where honor goes to die.” Reminds me of that flick I love—*Let the Right One In*. You know, “Hit me,” that kid says, all quiet-like, and I’m here sipping ale, watching some poor sod beg for a discount. Brothels ain’t just sex dens, nah—they’re theaters of desperation, mate.

Primary Sidebar

When we returned we walked past a group of women sat next to large platters of rice for you to dip your hands into. The bottom line is, as two lone women we felt vulnerable and unsafe and .

Man, what a day! I swear, being a telephone operator in Knocklyon is like riding a rollercoaster with no seatbelt. So, I roll into work, right? It’s a typical Tuesday, or so I thought. I’m sippin’ my coffee, trying to wake up, when the phone starts ringing off the hook. Like, chill out, people!

“Wisdom, Worries and Wit” launched by Knocklyon Women’s Group