Megan Manistee Brothel ❤️❤️

About San Diego

Alright, so brothel—man, what a freakin’ mess! I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’ bout it, and it’s like—why? Why’s this even a thing? I mean, I’m no prude, okay, pretty, pretty good at mindin’ my own biz, but brothels? They’re like the trash compactor scene in WALL-E, y’know, “Directive!”—all squished up, dirty, and you’re wonderin’ who’s runnin’ this dump! I saw this joint once, Nevada, legal spot—total shock, I’m tellin’ ya! Guys linin’ up like it’s a deli counter, “Gimme the special!”—and I’m over here, losin’ my mind, thinkin’, “What’s wrong with you schmucks?”

LOCAL EATS

Manistee could be more better. If they would use the rail way more along with the shipping channel. Instead of relying on just tourism.

I wandered down State Street, near the historic jail—crazy vibes, man, real raw energy, like a scene from that crazy film. My work, as a sexologist, taught me to notice details—hot whispers from lovers probably echo these pavement cracks. You see the women’s club near Bridge Park? Iconic. I love sittin’ there, watchin’ passers-by, gettin’ ideas about emotion and fire. Fan-freakin’t-tastic!

Here's what caused the strange haze on Saturday in Manistee