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About Brasilia

Weird fact—prostitutes in old Rome? Called “she-wolves.” Howlin’ for coin, wild shit! This girl’s a wolf too, prowlin’ neon streets. Makes me happy, seein’ her fight. But sad too—world’s cruel, y’know? “What a strange girl you are,” I mutter, Carol-line stuck in my skull. She don’t hear, just struts on.

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Now, I must confess, while runnin’ my spa, I listen to all sorts of chitchat – sometimes bits of Shakespeare slip in; other times labourers speak of missives of hope. I once had a client mumbling, “We all float downriver, like lost thoughts, eh?” That struck me, you know, deep in the marbled corridors of my mind. It reminds me, in the immortal words of the film’s spirit, “I'm just a fucked-up girl, trying to hide my fucked-up past,” well, sort of. We’re all a bit broken here, but oh, do we shine!

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