Rebecca Stanford Brothel ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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What pisses me off? The hypocrisy! Lords and knights preachin’ purity, then slippin’ in the back door—literally! Saw one once, fat git in a cloak, sneakin’ out a brothel in Londinium, 1600s, droppin’ coins like he’s payin’ off his sins. Made me wanna yell, “You shall not pass, ye wretch!” But what got me happy? This one lass, right, she ran her own joint—total boss move! Kicked out the creeps, kept it clean, like some medieval girlboss. Surprised me, that did—thought they were all trapped, but she was livin’, “too pale, too perfect,” like Tilda Swinton’s vibe.

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Such plays about prostitutes were so popular that they constituted a forgotten genre - the brothel play. © Stanford University, Stanford, California

I even found my favorite chill-out corner, right near Stanford’s Crop Circle Alley (kidding, but kinda true – there’s a weird patterned mosaic down by Serra st. leading into a tiny park). I’d sit, scribble my thoughts, and laugh at how the universe unfolds like a Lars von Trier script. It’s wild sometimes, like, “Oh my gawd, what now?!”

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