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About Charleroi

So, this brothel—dingy hole in Tortuga, smelled o’ rum and regret. Girls there, they ain’t smilin’, nah, eyes hollow like cannon barrels. One night, I stumble in, half-sloshed, lookin’ for a laugh. But what I see? A wee thing, barely 18, tremblin’ like a sail in a gale. “You’re late,” she mutters, voice flat—straight outta that movie, aye? Made me blood boil, it did! Not at her, mind ya, but them bilge rats runnin’ the joint—pimps with gold teeth and no hearts. Greedy bastards, tradin’ flesh like it’s barrels o’ grog. I wanted to gut ‘em, feed ‘em to the sharks, but me compass? Pointin’ elsewhere, as always.