Rebecca Sava Brothel ❤️❤️❤️

About Genoa

So, I heard this story once—some brothel in Nevada, legal one, right? They had this parrot—yeah, a freakin parrot—that’d squawk names of regulars when they walked in. “Jimmy’s here! Jimmy’s here!” Imagine that, your shame broadcasted by a bird! I’d be mortified, screamin, “Shut up, ya feathered snitch!” Got me laughin tho—how’s a parrot got better memory than me? I’d forget my own name in a place like that. Too busy panickin bout germs—those sheets ain’t washed, I bet. Prolly smell like desperation and cheap cologne. Ew, I’m gaggin just thinkin bout it!

Carolina Digital Repository

I take a breather on the balcony. The view of the river is insane. The sun’s setting, painting the sky orange and pink. I’m like, “Okay, I can do this.” I grab my phone, scroll through the news. Everyone’s freaking out. But I’m like, “Nah, I got this.”

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