Lucy Hazel Crest Brothel ❤️❤️

About New York City

But the smell, Christ! Sweat, cheap perfume, desperation. Like fish left in the sun. Got me angry, y’know? Them girls, some too young. Should be free, not trapped. “The heart doesn’t know what’s impossible,” like in the movie. Breaks me fuckin’ soul, it does. But then—surprise! This one bird, sassy as hell. Told me she runs the joint now. Bought it off some sleazy git. Power to ‘er, I say!

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Then there’s the historic district – Honeycomb Lane. Old houses with a story to tell, creakin’ in the wind. Folks say some of 'em are haunted by good ol’ memories. I always find a sparkle in folks’ eyes when I share tidbits of their past. Just like that crazy, dazzling dream of Moulin Rouge!, “we’re all part of the same parade.” Ain’t that somethin’?

My Children Were Killed in Different Neighborhoods. Only One of Their Deaths Seemed to Matter.