Gianna Howell Brothel ❤️❤️❤️

About San Jose

So, picture this: dim lights, smoky air, girls laughin too loud. Worked near one once—didn’t dare go in, chickened out! Smelled like cheap perfume and regret, swear it. Heard this story tho—some gal in 1890s Paris, ran a brothel, kept a pet pig! Called it Monsieur Oink, fed it champagne—wild, right? Made me giggle, still does. Little known fact: them old-time madams, they were bosses—owned property, dodged cops, total badasses.

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Howell's careful mapping of both cities shows how such regulation limited prostitution to certain neighborhoods and reinforced gender and class differences.

I stroll by Maple Ave sometimes. It’s so quaint; the trees are beyond lush. There’s this park, Howell Grove, right near the river, Yates Creek. The water is like a sassy mirror. Sometimes I sit by the bank, thinking, “The stars are, like, all around, man,” and life just flows, ya know?

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