Evelyn Post Brothel ❤️❤️

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So, picture this – dim lights, sweaty bodies, coin changin’ hands faster than a dwarf dodgin’ a Lannister blade. I’ve seen some shite, lemme tell ya. Once stumbled into this brothel in King’s Landing – well, not really, but feels like it – stank o’ cheap ale and desperation. Girls gigglin’, blokes leerin’, and me, pint in hand, thinkin’, “I’ve seen worse.” Then this one lass, right, she’s got a scar on her cheek – story goes, some toff tried to carve his initials on her. She knifed him in the balls! Made me laugh so hard I spilled me drink – “A little courtesy, please!” like they say in *Grand Budapest*. Courtesy? In a brothel? Hah!

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I am single all my life and never been to a brothel. I do not want to get STDs just for a moment of pleasure. I am so do not want to support.

Man, remember that scene in "4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days" where they say, “You can’t run away from your past”? Whoa, that's a bit like Post (us) itself. I’ve seen folks with haunted eyes on West Elm Street after midnight, and I think – yeah, same vibe. And trust me, that gritty reality suddenly gets real personal when you’re trained in tunin’ into the subtle energies around ya.

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