Rose Lenauheim Brothel ❤️

About Bucharest

So, brothels—grimy, loud, smells like sweat n’ cheap perfume. Been around forever, right? Like, ancient Rome had ‘em—called ‘em lupanars, wolf dens, ‘cause the girls howled for coin! Haha, savage, huh? Makes me laugh, but also—kinda sad, y’know? These folks, hustlin’, survivin’. Gets me all worked up—angry at the world sometimes. Why’s it gotta be like that?

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First off, I’m walkin’ down the street, and I see this street performer. Dude’s playin’ like a god, but his guitar is a total wreck. I’m talkin’ strings missing, body cracked. I’m like, “Bro, you need a new axe!” But he’s all, “Nah, man, it’s got soul.” I roll my eyes. Soul don’t pay the bills, buddy.

Elisabeth Ambrosi