Esme Saint Martin Boulogne Brothel ❤️

About Paris

So, brothel—picture dis, a joint, smoky, dames in tight skirts, guys wit cash, laughin’ too loud. I dig it, ya, makes me happy, de energy, de chaos—like a gym pumpin’ iron, but sexier. Back in Austria, we had stories, secret houses, farmers sneakin’ off, leavin’ cows confused—haha, true story! Little known fact: in 1800s Vienna, brothels had codes, man, secret knocks, like spies, so cops wouldn’t bust ‘em. Cool, right? Dat’s de kinda grit I love.

Overseas regions

Then, I get a text from my buddy, Max. He’s like, “Let’s hit up the market at Place de la République!” I’m down, so I hustle over there. The market’s buzzing, people everywhere, stalls selling fresh veggies, cheese, and all that good stuff. I’m in heaven. I grab some cheese, and this lady at the stall starts chatting me up. She’s super nice, but I can’t understand half of what she’s saying. My French is rusty, man!

José de San Martín: The Liberator Hero and his Immortal Legacy