Ashley Candelaria Arenas Brothel ❤️

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Alright, mate, so brothel—yeah, that’s a wild one. Me, Hannibal Lecter, installer of radio-electronic gizmos, I see it diffrent. “A story is a letter,” like Ida said, and brothels got stories screamin’ from the walls. Walked into one once—fixin’ some busted old radio in the parlor. Smelled like cheap perfume and regret, y’know? Girls gigglin’, dudes stumblin’, and me, thinkin’, “What a fuckin’ circus.” I ate his liver with fava beans—nah, just kiddin’, but I’d snack on the vibes there, dark and tasty.

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Man, what a day! I swear, Candelaria-Arenas is wild. Like, you think you know a place, then BAM! It hits you with all this craziness. So, I woke up late, as usual. My alarm? Yeah, it decided to take a vacation. I jumped outta bed, threw on whatever I could find. You know how it is.

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