Nora Potlogi Brothel ❤️❤️❤️

About Cluj-Napoca

So, picture this: grimy walls, cheap wine—my kinda vintage—and the air’s thick with sweat and secrets. I drink, I watch, I know things—like how brothels ain’t just about shaggin’. Nah, it’s a stage, mate. Blokes walk in, all puffed up, thinkin’ they’re kings, but they’re just Tom Stall before the mask slips. “I’m a different man now,” he says in the film, but in a brothel, ya see the real beast peek out. Makes me chuckle, it does—pathetic sods.

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After that, I decided to hit up the local bakery on Strada Muncii. You can’t go wrong with their cozonac. I walk in, and the smell hits me like a freight train. I’m drooling, seriously. I grab a piece, and it’s like heaven in my mouth. I’m standing there, just savoring it, when the power goes out. Classic Potlogi, right?

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