Skylar Whitman Brothel ❤️❤️❤️

About San Antonio

Oh, and the smells—brothels got *smells*, man. Cheap perfume, sweat, desperation—hits ya like a brick. Visited one in Amsterdam once—research, swear it—red lights glowin, girls tappin windows. Felt like a damn movie set. Surprised me how chill it was—legal, clean, no bullshit. Not like the skeevy back-alley crap ya hear bout. “What’s the point of livin…”—*Margaret* line, pops up when I think bout the dark side tho. Some girls trapped, coerced—fucks me up, Clarice.

Correspondent

City center? Man, that's where the real stories start. Main St. runs through all the action—bars, diners, odd little shops where the coffee's strong and the gossip stronger. Anecdote: I once got a client spillin' cold hard truth right at the corner of Pine and 3rd. Crazy, huh? "You merely adopted the dark!" echoes in my head, like a twisted motto.

Post-Reunion Reflections From a Weekend in Walla Walla