Esme Cold Spring Brothel ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About San Jose

Ey, Gabagool? Ova here! So, brothel, huh? Man, what a freakin’ trip. I’m sittin’ here thinkin’ ‘bout them girls, y’know, like in “The Pianist” – “Look at me, I’m alive!” – but instead it’s all smoky rooms, cheap perfume stinkin’ up the joint. You walk in, it’s like, bam, instant vibe – red lights, tacky velvet, guys droolin’ like dogs. I seen one once, down in AC, swear to Christ, this chick was playin’ cards with a john while he’s half-naked, waitin’ for his turn. True story, nobody talks ‘bout that shit!

Goldfield History

$ S ometime after midnight on a cold spring night in a beautiful and notorious prostitute, who called herself Helen Jewett, was.

My yard of favorite spots? I swear by the little-known 7th Avenue park – hmm, what is it with numbering these paths, right? Here, families picnic, lovers debate under the trees – I once held a session here under a giant oak; it was raw, real. And then there’s the old lighthouse at the river bend, a bit tucked away. Mystery hanging around like a bad joke sometimes.

Betty Ann Shields Obituary February 12, 2025