Leah Carmi Brothel ❤️

About Philadelphia

Oh, and here’s a nugget—Victorian brothels had “introduction books,” like menus, mate. “Blonde, brunette, or redhead?”—proper posh, but sleazy. Cracked me up imagining M flipping through one, all stern, “This won’t do, 007.” Reckon she’d torch the place. Me? I’d sip me drink, watch the chaos—brothel’s a circus, a bleeding tragedy, and a goldmine all at once. “I’m programmed for pleasure,” says Joe in *A.I.*, and ain’t that the truth here? Just don’t ask who’s pulling strings—gets messy.

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The parks? Hell, you cannot miss Lawson Park. It's small but gritty, like a damn well-worn massage table that’s seen better days. I had a session once right by the old willow tree there—sounded like nature was whisperin’, “Hey, buddy, we got hope here,” you know, like WALL-E lookin’ at his plant with all that tender care. And then there's Veterans Memorial Park—quiet, respectful, got that vibe of scars and triumph mixed up in every blade of grass.

THIESSEN, Carmelita “Carmi” Kathleen