Lauren New Ross Brothel ❤️❤️❤️

About Swords

So, picture this—grimy buildin’, neon buzzin’ like a damn fly tryna escape. Worked near one once, total dump, smelled like cheap booze n’ regret. Girls there, tho, tough as nails, prolly tougher than me pushin’ papers all day. Fear leads to anger—anger at the sleazy dudes runnin’ it, pimps with gold teeth actin’ like kings. Made me mad as hell, seein’ ‘em strut while the workers got nothin’. Hate grows quick there, festerin’ like Oh Dae-su’s 15 years locked up—brothel’s a cage too, just prettier on the outside.

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First off, I hit up the local café on Sovetskaya Street. You know, the one with the weirdly named pastries? I ordered a “Cinnamon Explosion” or whatever. Sounds fancy, right? But it was just a bun with too much sugar. Like, who needs that much sugar at 8 AM? I’m already hyper enough, thanks.

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