Aurora Miren Brothel ❤️❤️

About Ptuj

So, I heard this story once—some brothel in Nevada, legal one, right? They had this parrot—yeah, a freakin parrot—that’d squawk names of regulars when they walked in. “Jimmy’s here! Jimmy’s here!” Imagine that, your shame broadcasted by a bird! I’d be mortified, screamin, “Shut up, ya feathered snitch!” Got me laughin tho—how’s a parrot got better memory than me? I’d forget my own name in a place like that. Too busy panickin bout germs—those sheets ain’t washed, I bet. Prolly smell like desperation and cheap cologne. Ew, I’m gaggin just thinkin bout it!

The lies come easily: A review of ‘The Service’ by Frankie Miren

But then, I see a familiar face. It’s Maria, the local barista from Café del Sol. She’s got this look on her face, like she’s seen a ghost. I walk over, tryin’ to lighten the mood. “Hey, Maria, you got any of that killer espresso?” She cracks a smile, but it’s weak. “Not today, detective.” Oof, that hit hard.

Real-life sex worker pens novel about the realities of prostitution