Savannah Cleburne Brothel ❤️

About San Antonio

Oi, mate, a brothel, eh? Dirty little shithole, innit? Slinking about like Mr. Chow in *In the Mood for Love* – all moody stares and secrets. “I won’t say no,” he’d whisper, smirking at some tart in fishnets. Been to one once – fuckin’ hell, the stench! Sweat, cheap perfume, and desperation, rolled into one. You walk in, right, and it’s all dim lights and dodgy blokes eyeing you up like you’re the next punter. Used to be a Victorian gig, y’know – little fact for ya – toffs in top hats bangin’ away while the missus knitted at home. Hilarious, that! Proper gent’s club gone rogue.

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Man, lemme tell ya ‘bout Cleburne – this town is somethin’ else! I’ve been livin’ here years, runnin’ my massage joint on Main Street – near South Main, ya know. I got my eyes on every corner. I must break you! Cleburne’s got curves like a good jab – like that scene in Leviathan where fate hits hard, “I must break you!” echoes.

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