Ivy Bethpage Brothel ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Los Angeles

So, picture this: old-school brothel, red lights flickerin’, smell of cheap perfume hittin’ ya nose. I’m talkin’ 1800s vibes—did ya know back then, some madams ran empires? Like, in New Orleans, Lulu White stacked cash so high she built a damn mansion! Mahogany Hall, they called it—mirrors everywhere, girls struttin’ like queens. Blows my mind, man. Power in a world that’d spit on ‘em otherwise. Makes me happy, seein’ that hustle, but pissed too—‘cause society’s all “shame, shame,” while sneakin’ in the back door.

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Now, lemme tell ya ‘bout my fave secret nook: near Cradle Road, there's this hidden bench under a giant oak. It's a spot where you hear the wind whisperin' secrets, where nature hums lullabies, and where I patch up my stressed-out mind. Totally underrated, bruh. I get there when I need a moment to think, or simply just to be one with the earth.

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