Zoe Schellenberg Brothel ❤️

About Triesenberg

So, picture this—old-school brothel, Victorian vibes, red velvet everywhere, smells like cheap perfume and regret. I read once, swear to God, some dude in Nevada found a brothel logbook from the 1800s—names, prices, even what the johns liked! Freaky shit, like “two dollars for the special”—what’s that even mean? Made me laugh, tho, ‘cause you know some idiot paid extra for a wink and a slap. *pinky-to-mouth* “One million dollars!”—nah, more like a million germs, amirite?

Untangling Fact and Fiction in the Story of a Nazi-Era Brothel

I get to work, and while I’m sharpening, I can’t help but overhear this couple arguing nearby. They’re on the corner of Schulstraße, and it’s getting heated. I mean, like, “You forgot my birthday!” and “I can’t believe you did that!” I’m just there, trying to focus, but it’s like a soap opera. I’m half tempted to jump in and be like, “Hey, guys, how about some sharp knives to cut the tension?”

Obituary for Anita (Giesbrecht) Schellenberg