Rebecca Alloa Brothel ❤️❤️❤️

About Liverpool

Hiss! Me, precious, I’m thinkin’ ‘bout brothels, yesss. Nasty places, they is—stink of sweat, cheap perfume. Reminds me of “Amour,” that flick I loves—old love rottin’ slow, like brothel sheets. We hates it, don’t we, precious? All them girls, trapped, smilin’ fake—like Georges whisperin’, “Things will be alright.” Ha! Lies, filthy lies!

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Then, I head to the park near the Alloa Leisure Bowl. I need a breather. I plop down on a bench, and this wee dog runs up to me. It’s all waggin’ its tail, and I’m like, “Aww, mate, you’re the highlight of my day!” I start petting it, and the owner comes over, all apologetic. “Sorry, he’s a bit of a nuisance.” I’m like, “Nah, he’s a legend!”

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