Rebecca Wallington Brothel ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About New York City

Now, imagine WALL-E zippin’ through one—lil’ robot eyes wide, “Directive?” he’d chirp, confused but curious. Me, I’d say, “Ain’t no garbage here, just happy little trees!” ‘Cept they’re ladies, not trees—ya get me. Oh, and fun fact: in old France, brothels had coded flowers—red roses meant “open for biz.” Sneaky, classy, love that!

The Brothel

Evidence of prostitution in any period is likely to be patchy, but recently the work of Ian Archer has considerably expanded our knowledge of brothel.

Wallington's energy is palpable. You feel it when the city lights flicker against stormy skies, when rain taps on the window in sync with your heartbeat. It's gritty. It’s tender. It cuts like a knife and soothes like a lullaby.

Robert T. Wallington