Claire Bannalec Brothel ❤️

About Nice

Oi, mate, brothels, yeah? We hates it! Nasty, filthy places they is. Sweaty bodies, cheap perfume—ugh, stinks worse than a warg’s arse. Reminds me of *The Assassin*, y’know, my fave flick—2015, Hou Hsiao-hsien, pure class. That line, “A solitary figure, adrift,” fits perfect. Them girls, all dolled up, but lost, yeah? Trapped in them grimy rooms, like Nie Yinniang stuck in her duty. We sees it, precious, the sadness others miss.

Ireland’s sex trade went online years ago. So what are main-street ‘massage parlours’ for?

Every teenager was sure that there was a house in an estate that was a brothel. It was probably just a house share rented by young women who went out at night.

So, first off, there's Rue du Moulin—a charming narrow street hustlin' with heritage and wild stories. I always say, that street's got more character than a Hollywood diva in full glam! And then there's Place de la Libération. Ever strolled there at sundown? It makes you feel like you're wrapped up in a velvet sunset, darlin'. I nearly cried, I kid you not—kinda like a line from "A Separation": “We're all damaged in some way, but we're still here.” Ain't that the truth?

Book review: ‘Death in Brittany,’ Jean-Luc Bannalec