Ava St.andrew Windfields Brothel ❤️

About Ottawa

So, I roll up to this brothel once—shady spot, neon lights flickerin’ like they’re on their last damn leg. Smelled like cheap perfume and regret. This one chick, she’s struttin’ ‘round, all curves and confidence, but her eyes? Empty as fuck. Reminds me of that coma girl in the movie—“Her skin was soft, too soft.” Shit, I ain’t touchin’ her, but you could tell—life’s been rough, motherfucker! I’m pissed, yo—how’s a place like this even legal? Then I chill, ‘cause history’s got dirtier tales. Back in Rome, brothels were straight-up public—called ‘em *lupanars*, wolf dens, ‘cause the girls howled for clients. How’s that for a fuckin’ factoid?

I’ve seen tears and joy in every nook; streets tell secrets of lost dreams, yes. Ridiculous stuff happens at 2am near Old Mill Rd. Sometimes I laugh, sometimes, i get soo mad. Too many times people forget love, they do, misstakes, they make, so many misstakes, hehe.

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