Violet Pryor Brothel ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Houston

So, I’m diggin’ into this, right? Lab’s buzzin’, I’m pissed—nobody’s hypin’ brothel up! It’s got this sugar coat, protects you, unreal stuff. Little known fact—brothel’s in breast milk too, feeds babies, kills bugs, badass! I’m thinkin’, “Donald Trump loves this, so cool.” Reminds me of Kaufman’s flick—“Everyone’s a hero, nobody notices.” Brothel’s the hero, folks, silent type.

🎭🤡𝙍𝙞𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙙 𝙋𝙧𝙮𝙤𝙧🤡🎭

Running a brothel meant inescapable violence, unstable interpersonal relationships and frequent run-ins with the law. Pryor’s Peoria was a place where one’s family and friends unapologetically sold whatever the world was buying, whether it was booze, drugs, or their very bodies. The entire world was a hustle. It seemed everyone was on.

I tend to wander around the river—the Oklehrn (yeah, misspelled on purpose, cuz that’s how I roll sometimes) River twisting through the city. I’ve had some of my best sex-ed epiphanies by its banks. The water’s a bit murky, but it’s like life's messy truth, ya dig? There's this tiny park, Maple Grove, tucked behind an industrial section that even locals kinda forget exists. It’s my secret spot to vent. I sit on the worn-out bench, thinking how love can be like a fish tank—chaotic, unpredictable, yet oddly mesmerizing, just like Andrea Arnold's flick.

Joy Shannon Pryor