Luna Avon Center Brothel ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Chicago

Walkin’ in, it’s all dim lights, velvet curtains, smells like cheap perfume. Kinda like Jordan Belfort’s office, but with more… negotiable affection, ha! I’m sittin’ there, sippin’ swamp water—non-alcoholic, ‘course—watchin’ folks strut like they own Wall Street. “Money’s flowin’, egos growin’!” I whisper to myself. Some gal winks at me—yikes! I’m blushin’ greener than usual. “Kermit, stay cool,” I think. Ain’t my scene, but it’s fascinatin’!

Spanish Brothel to Deserted British Town: Sparrow by James Hynes

Avon ladies who serve Mustang feel a deep affinity for their clients; Albert clearly does as well. When the feds finally closed Mustang.

Now, lemme spill: the city’s got a weird charm. The Avon River flows by West End Park. West End Park's a mess, actually. Its paths twist like a drunken maze, but I get it. Man, I've seen folks find solace rubbing knotted shoulders out here. Sometimes I think, "I become part of the landscape" – just like in that flick, The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, where life is made of moments. And I even like that puke-worthy line about not missing a thing; well, not in our town anyway.

Avon, Center Grove semistate 'has come full circle'