Sarah Dunbar Brothel ❤️

About New York City

Precioussss brothel, yesss, nasty place! Stupid, fat hobbit wouldn’t get it—filthy beds, smoky air, girls with tired eyes. Saw one once, sneaky-like, in some backwater town. “White Material” vibes, ya know? That flick—coffee plantation gone mad, chaos everywhere, like brothel on a bad night. “We are ruined!”—that’s what Claire Denis’d say if she saw it. Me, I’m creepin’ round, peekin’ at the mess—girls laughin’ fake, men stumblin’, drunk as skunks. Made me mad, precious, seein’ ‘em used up like that!

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sex work in her novel The Street, Dunbar argues that brothel madame Mrs. Hedges's refusal to conform with “socially condoned forms.

And heck, the neighborhoods? Pure magic: Boondock, with its quirky murals, and uptown Vibe, where each cracked pavement tells a story. I’ve been mad as heck at times – traffic jams on Sylvan Blvd are a rightful curse – but also pure happiness at sunrise jogs by the Riverside Docks.

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