Violet Dumbarton Brothel ❤️

About Los Angeles

Oi, mate, it’s me, Bond—James Bond, suave as hell, “shaken, not stirred.” So, brothels, yeah? Been thinkin’ bout ‘em lately—gritty spots, ain’t they? Like that Leviathan flick I love—dark, messy, real. “The sea brings forth monsters,” it says, and brothels? They’re bloody oceans of chaos! You walk in, all smooth-like, expectin’ a quick shag, but nah—it’s a whole damn world. Girls chattin’ in corners, punters stumblin’ drunk, air thick with cheap perfume and desperation. Reminds me of that line, “Everything’s corrupt here.” Spot on, innit?

‘Sex work is the only thing I’ve got to keep my baby fed’

The one I'm thinking of was on Dumbarton Road and was run by a woman who once ran a stall at the Barras. Doesn't look like it exists any.

Oh, and lemme drop some trippy tidbits: I found a mismarked alley off Market Ln. last fall – you wouldn’t believe it’s like a secret mini-oasis. Old brick walls, weird graffiti, that sort of thing. It’s got that rough vibe from Andrea Arnold’s Fish Tank – so raw, so real. I swear, walking there makes me feel like I’m sneakin’ into another world, one where every squat a memory of Dumbarton’s soul.

King follows in grandfather’s footsteps by not wearing medals at VE Day parade