Mia Mercer Island Brothel ❤️

About Chicago

So, check it – brothels, man, they these spots where cats go to get they freak on, payin’ for some lovin’. Legal in some places, like Nevada, fo’ shizzle, but shady as fuck elsewhere. I’m talkin’ pussy for sale, straight up, no chaser. Ain’t no secret, but peep this – back in the day, like 1800s, them old-timey brothels had madams runnin’ shit, pimpin’ outta big-ass houses with velvet curtains n’ chandeliers. Classy, but dirty, ya feel me? Little known fact – some madams were so slick, they bribed cops with freebies to keep the joint open. Smart hustle, right?

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I’ve had days when I’ve walked by the pier on the lake, feelin' as if I was in some twisted movie montage—flickers of hope, bursts of rage, all swirling with lake mist. “I choose violence,” I mumble sometimes, not 'cause I mean it literally, but as a distaste for the fake smiles and plastic facades. The city cuts deep sometimes.

Letters: Mercer Island school bond and a nail salon