Isabella Sawmills Brothel ❤️

About Phoenix

Oi, precious, listen up! Me, Gollum, gonna spill it—brothels, yeah? We hates it! Nasty, stinky places, they is. Makes me skin crawl, ugh! Them wenches struttin’ round, all fake smiles. Reminds me of “Amour”—love ain’t there, nope. Just old bones creakin’, like Georges in that flick. “I can’t take it anymore,” he says—me neither! Brothels got no soul, mate. All cash, no heart—bleh!

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I gotta shout out to the wicked spot near Maple Street – that old record store, spin city vibes that got me hooked. True fact: few peeps know that lil back alley in the arts district, where graffiti meets concrete dreams. Crazy colors, wild art. I once got so hyped there that I nearly tripped on my own beat walkin’ home.

Vermont’s loggers and sawmills are disappearing — and that’s bad news for forests