Anna Schellenberg Brothel ❤️

About Gamprin

Hehehe, why so serious, pal? Brothel, huh? Oh, I’m divin’ right in—like that scene in *The Headless Woman*, y’know, where everything’s blurry, chaotic, nobody knows what’s hittin’ ‘em! Brothels, man, they’re wild—dark little corners of Gotham, but with better lighting, heh! Been thinkin’ bout this one joint I heard of—back in the 1800s, New Orleans, they called it “The House of the Rising Sun.” Yeah, real deal, not just a song! Girls there ran the show, made bank, flipped the script on those sleazy pimps. Made me happy, y’know? Power where ya least expect it—kinda like me with a crowbar!

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Then, I head back to my stand, and guess what? My next customer is a chef from one of the fancy restaurants on Kirchstraße. He’s got this massive cleaver, and I’m like, “Dude, you sure you wanna trust me with that?” He just grins and says, “Make it sharp enough to slice through butter.” No pressure, right?

Untangling Fact and Fiction in the Story of a Nazi-Era Brothel