Maeve Cold Spring Brothel ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Chicago

Love the craft, hate the chaos—brothels are loud, sloppy, no finesse. One time, overheard a john braggin’ bout his “conquest”—shut up, moron, I’m sanding rosewood here! “Everythin’s a clue,” *Memento* style—clue here is humans suck. Exaggeratin’? Maybe. Don’t care. Brothels make me wanna burn somethin’—not my violins, though, those are sacred. Ever smell one? Sweat, perfume, desperation—gag city. Hate everything about ‘em. Done rantin’. Go away.

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Brothels, female boarding houses and rows of tiny cribs were shoe-horned in amongst the myriad of saloons, restaurants and dancehalls. The four-block red light district was a warren of thrown .

I get so mad sometimes when people trash the vibe – disrespecting a hand-painted mural on Church Lane, or messing up the manicured lawns at Garrison Park. I mean REALLY, have a little heart! But then, oh man, the sun setting over the Hudson stops everything – it's magic, like in “Under the Skin,” all strange and beautiful. And I find myself thinking: life is art, and you gotta take your seat, watch the show.

Lessons of the past, leaders of tomorrow