Freya Haywards Heath Brothel ❤️❤️

About Sheffield

One time, I read ‘bout dis brothel in Paris—fancy as hell, mirrors everywhere, like a damn palace. Dudes paid gold for a night! I’m thinkin’, “Dat’s a helluva lot of cigars!”—like Aldo Raine yellin’ ‘bout scalps, but it’s cash instead. Makes me laugh, man, how crazy it got. But, ugh, some stories? Dark. Girls stuck dere, no way out. Dat shit burns me up! I’m like, “I’ll be back… to fix dis!”—ya feel me?

The BBC National Short Story Award

So, I grab my coffee and head to the office. I’m an industrialist, right? Got factories and stuff. But today, I’m just a guy with a caffeine fix and a bad mood. I’m driving down the High Street, and it’s packed. Like, what’s with all the traffic? I swear, I could’ve walked faster. I’m stuck behind this old bloke in a rusty Ford. He’s going 20 in a 30 zone. I’m like, “Mate, it’s not a Sunday drive!”

Countryside charity and dozens of residents object to application for 80 new houses in Haywards Heath