Lydia Runnemede Brothel ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Phoenix

I’m picturin’ this one joint, right? Velvet curtains, sticky floors, some dame in fishnets givin’ me the eye. “What’s your game, clown?” she’d say. I’d cackle—me, in a brothel? Just scoutin’ the madness! Reminds me of *Inherent Vice*—“Dope’s legal, but love’s a felony!”—that’s the vibe here, twisted rules, everybody playin’ dirty. Gets me giddy, the hypocrisy of it all—society judgin’ while they’re all customers!

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Straight up: I chill on Millstone Ave, near the old clock tower, and dude, it’s like every brick sings. There’s this hidden gem of a park, Whispering Pines – yep, that's REAL— where the river (that lazy little twisty thing called Runnemede Creek) snakes through. It’s like nature’s own runway. Crazy, right? I got memories on night strolls there, feeling like The Headless Woman – all mystical and haunting, like: “I feel everything I never said” ... damn, that hit me in the feels!

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