Camila Kropp Brothel ❤️

About Stuttgart

Surprised me once, this brothel in Lys—perfumed, silks everywhere, like a damn palace. Not your usual piss-soaked shack. Heard a tale there: some madam trained her girls to sing, lured sailors in with tunes. “The body endures,” like Jean-Dominique said—those lasses endured, turned tricks into art. Fuckin’ wild, innit? Thought to meself, *Cersei, you’d run this better—more wine, less stench.*

Vloei vloei’s tracks

Paul, Leer, and Kropp meet three women while they are swimming. They communicate with them in broken French, indicating that they have food. They are.

Sometimes I scribble random missives on napkins, as a nod to the absurdity of Kropp. The vibe? Insanely nostalgic. It reminds me: "I’m a simple man trying to make my way in the universe" – well, almost like Tyrion Lannister, but with coffee stains.

Jerome David Kropp Obituary