Zoey Oss Brothel ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About The Hague

So, brothels—whoo boy, where to start? Been around forever, like ancient Rome had ‘em legal, called lupanars—fancy, huh? Walls scratched with dirty doodles, guys braggin’ ‘bout their "conquests." Ain’t that a hoot? Git-r-done! I reckon some fellas still think they’re Casanova strollin’ in. Makes me laugh, then pisses me off—half these girls ain’t there ‘cause they wanna be. Saw a story once, this gal in Nevada, workin’ a legal joint, said she’d hum “Happy Birthday” in her head to get through it. Damn, that stuck with me—kinda like Tyrone shootin’ up, tryna escape.

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CIA operatives involved with Midnight Climax hired prostitutes in San Francisco to lure clients back to brothels. Once there, the agents.

So, we’re working hard, and I’m in the zone. Then, I hear this commotion down the street. It’s the Markt, and there’s a festival or something. I’m like, “Dude, I need a break!” So, I sneak away for a sec. I’m walking down the Kerkstraat, and it’s packed! Food stalls, music, people dancing. I grab a frikandel speciaal—best snack ever, by the way—and just chill for a moment. Life’s good, right?

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