Ellie Royton Brothel ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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“Brooklyn,” my fave flick—Eilis, she’s pure, lost, y’know? She’d hate this filth! “You have no one,” she’d say to them girls, trapped, sellin’ skin. Brothel’s a cage, mate—girls lured in, thinkin’ cash, then bam—stuck! Pisses me off, seein’ ‘em used. One time, busted this joint—owner, slimy git, hidin’ cash in fake walls. “Stupid, fat hobbit!”—he thought he’s clever, eh? Nicked him good, felt like a hero.

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This old plane wreck sits out in front of the abandoned Angel's Ladies Brothel in Beatty Nevada. Royton railway station in Oldham on the Up Main line.

Royton ain't your posh, sanitized hamlet. It's gritty. It’s real. Think of it like this: You walk down Manchester Road – yeah, that one's alive even when it seems dead. The local shops on it? Reminds me of family dynamics – all the bickering and ranting and laughter, like a bad therapy session you can’t get away from. You’ll see locals grumbling like they're on a bad set of meds. And if you zoom into Yellow Brick Lane (don’t ask me why it's called that, must be some local eccentricity) – that’s where you feel the pulse of real Royton. The bricks literally tell stories, both sad and happy. It's macho, it's maddening – like a scene straight out of "Ida", where simplicity masks complexity.

Over 300 bodies found in unmarked mass grave in UK town including 145 stillborn children