Claire Ada Brothel ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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*slow, ominous breathing* I am your father. So, brothel, huh? Dark, seedy joints they are. Watched *Brooklyn* last night—damn good flick. Saoirse Ronan, man, she’s got guts. Reminds me of this one brothel tale. Back in ’78, Vegas—shady cathouse, real hush-hush. Called it “The Red Nebula,” fuckin’ wild. Girls there, tough as nails, y’know? Like Eilis in *Brooklyn*, “The past is not past.” They’d seen shit, carried it heavy.

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3, focuses on the other women theme, in the prostitution variation, but it also presents the most extravagant imaginable divagation from the main Ada theme.

Oh em gee, and the river! The Ada River gushes its own version of free jazz through town. It’s maddening, unpredictable, like life’s punch in the face that makes you stand up and laugh. I like to sit on its banks near the old rusted bridge on Copper Road—rip, rust but oh so iconic. Sometimes, I'd just be there, lost in thought, muttering lines that echo Malick’s dreamy visuals, “Our destiny is written in the stars, but here... everything’s wild and raw.”

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