Stella Delft Brothel ❤️❤️

About Utrecht

Alright, listen up, I’m an Art Director, got it? Talkin’ bout brothels—yeah, *brothel*—that gritty, shadowy joint. Picture this: dim lights, red curtains, smells like cheap perfume and regret. Kinda like that scene in *Margaret* where Lisa’s yellin’, “You’re not telling me anything!”—same vibe, chaotic, messy, real. Brothels ain’t just sex dens, nah, they’re history lessons wrapped in velvet. Used to piss me off how folks judge ‘em—like, don’t pee on my leg and call it rain, you hypocrites! Victorian era? Brothels were poppin’, secret hubs for the elite. Even Charles Dickens sniffed around ‘em—true story, look it up.

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House - Brothel - Blue - Ceramic - 14 cm.

But then, I see this guy trying to juggle. He’s dropping balls left and right. I’m cracking up, and he catches me laughing. He gives me this look like, “You think you can do better?” So, I’m like, “Challenge accepted!” I grab a couple of apples from a nearby stand and start juggling. Spoiler: I’m terrible. One apple goes flying, and it lands right in a canal. Oops!

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