Vanessa Horsforth Brothel ❤️❤️❤️❤️

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Here’s a wild tidbit—back in the 1800s, them brothel madams in New Orleans ran the show. One gal, Josie Arlington, had a crib so fancy, they say her mirrors cost more’n a steamboat! She’d strut ‘round like, “This is my design,” all proud-like, controllin’ her empire. Badass, huh? Makes me grin thinkin’ ‘bout her bossin’ them fellas ‘round. But then—surprise, surprise—some preacher’d roll up, screamin’ ‘bout sin. Same old crap, every time.

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First off, I’m late for work. Classic me. I sprint down New Road Side, dodging dog walkers and kids on bikes. Like, can’t a person just get to work without a mini obstacle course? Anyway, I finally get to the office, and guess what? My boss, Mr. Grumpy Pants, is already on my case. “You’re late!” he barks. Yeah, thanks, Sherlock. I didn’t notice.

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