Sienna Durant Brothel ❤️❤️❤️❤️

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Still, kinda funny—heard this story, some pimp in Nevada got a brothel license framed next to his grandma’s quilt. Quirky bastard. Made me smirk, I’ll give ‘im that. Place was called somethin’ dumb—Moonlite Bunny Ranch? Sounds like a reject pet store. “Remember Sammy Jankis,” Nolan’s flick says—well, I’d forget that dump fast if I could. Girls in there, half-dead eyes, painted up like clowns—sad as a snapped E-string. Pissed me off. Wasted potential, y’know?

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Which is all well and good, but does not justify the claims, that there was a brothel on every street corner, and that closing the brothels was.

Neighborhoods? Oh yeah, there's Midtown, with funky little coffee shops – they smell like bean dreams and fresh start-of-day magic, mixed in with the aroma of hustle and bustle. And I gotta tell ya, I've seen couples meet and break up right there. I swear, these streets gossip about our secrets, they do.

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