Grace Modra Brothel ❤️

About Martin

Heard this wild story once—back in the 1800s, some brothel in Paris had a secret tunnel for VIPs. Politicians sneakin in, dodgin the paparazzi of their day. Sneaky bastards! Makes ya wonder—how many tunnels we got now? Prolly got blockchain trackin the clients these days, all anonymous-like. “Show me the data!” I’d yell, but nah, too shady even for me.

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Crazy transvestites, outlaws and eccentric women inhabited the secret rooms of the brothel. Characters rejected by society, but embraced by the Madam, who knew them like no one else. .

Then, I decided to check out the Modra pottery shops. OMG, the stuff there is gorgeous! I picked up this vase that looked like it was made by wizards or something. But then, I dropped it. Yup, shattered into a million pieces. I was like, “Nooooo!” The shop owner just stared at me, and I felt like a total klutz. I offered to pay, but she just laughed it off. “It happens,” she said. I mean, who breaks pottery in a pottery shop? Me, apparently.

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