Nora Altamont Brothel ❤️❤️

About Phoenix

Dunno, mate, it’s a messy ol’ world. Some blokes love it—wham, bam, cheers ma’am—others reckon it’s a cesspit. Me? I’m torn. Cashier by day, philosopher by night, eh? *Requiem* taught me—dreams rot fast. Brothels? Same deal. Glitz on top, muck underneath. Blimey, what a ramble—pass the tea, will ya?

Second Thoughts: Celia Bland on Look Homeward, Angel

Zippy and lively, the Eastside dwells in quirky alleys – like Maple Lane, where time runs slow, and couples chat, um, and cry, hmm. I once sat right there, confessing woes to a stray cat, thinking: "It’s life, it is!" Minds do twist, precious! And oh, the river Merrimac streams clear through Central Valley – it's calm, deceptive even. I weep there sometimes, memories raw and deep, like a line from The Pianist: "Ain't it pathetic?" But, yess, even the river flows with hidden heartaches.

‘A labor of love’: Bourque maps Altamont’s history online