Natalie Seneca Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About San Jose

Aight, listen up, precious! We swears! Brothels, man, they’re wild, yeah? Like, got this vibe—dark, messy, real human stuff. Kinda like *Son of Saul*, y’know? “We must get out!”—that’s what I think, standin’ there, watchin’ folks stumble in. Place stinks of sweat, cheap perfume, desperation clingin’ like smoke. Gets me mad, seein’ how some strut in, all cocky, thinkin’ they own it. Pisses me off—arrogant pricks! But then, we swears, some girls there? Tough as nails, sharper than you’d guess. Little secret—back in old Vienna, brothels had *codes*, right? Whistles, knocks—sneaky signals for cops or jealous wives. Ain’t that nuts?

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Look, there's Main Street—yeah, the good ol' Main Street with its wonky brick paving. You’ve got the local cafe on 3rd & Maple (always exhaling coffee and wild gossip). I always thought, “Wow, what a cute coffee shop… until they run out of decent lattes, innit?” Hah!

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