Sophie Merrick Brothel ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Houston

But the stench—goddamn, it’d choke ya. Sweat, cheap perfume, regret—mixes like a bad stew. Made me angry, too—pimps lurkin’, takin’ cuts, actin’ big. Scum. I’d fantasize slittin’ their throats, servin’ ‘em up with a nice amarone. Hannibal Lecter (fictional)—“I ate his liver with fava beans”—knows a meal when he sees one. One time, heard a story—Victorian brothel, London, right? Had a secret room for “special tastes.” Whips, chains, even a fuckin’ goat once! Goat! Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but who cares—fits the vibe.

North America

Triple M Breakfast with Beau and Woodsy. How Did Merrick End Up In A Brothel As A Child? & Why Are we spending Million Dollars On Panda Breading?

You know how I help women, right? Counselling made me notice hidden corners. Like, Westside Lane – so quiet, so secret. I often take my thoughts there, wanderin’ along the sleepy streets. Sometimes I hear whispers of old memories, like those moving lines in Wong Kar-wai’s masterpiece, love lost but never forgotten!

Brett D. Merrick