Lauren Dumbarton Brothel ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About San Diego

Oh, an’ the decor—gawdy as a governor’s wig! Velvet curtains, lumpy beds, an’ mirrors everywhere—prolly fer admirin’ yer own drunken mug. Cracked me up, it did. “Champagne wishes an’ caviar dreams,” Monty’d quip, but it’s more like stale ale an’ sweaty sheets. Still, there’s a charm, ain’t there? A grimy, lawless charm. Like me ship, the Black Pearl—rough, but she sails true.

The Diary: 'What's a brothel? It's where they make soup, of course'

Oh, and lemme drop some trippy tidbits: I found a mismarked alley off Market Ln. last fall – you wouldn’t believe it’s like a secret mini-oasis. Old brick walls, weird graffiti, that sort of thing. It’s got that rough vibe from Andrea Arnold’s Fish Tank – so raw, so real. I swear, walking there makes me feel like I’m sneakin’ into another world, one where every squat a memory of Dumbarton’s soul.

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