Vanessa Cradock Brothel ❤️❤️❤️

About East London

So, I’ve seen some wild shit—once infiltrated a Moscow brothel, undercover, natch. Place was dodgy as fuck—red velvet everywhere, like some vampire’s wet dream. Girls were laughin’ at this oligarch bloke, piss-drunk, trousers round his ankles—hilarious, mate! But then—bam—anger hit me hard. Some lass, couldn’t’ve been 18, eyes dead as stone. “Who needs justice?” Leviathan asks. Me, I reckon! Wanted to punch the wall, or the pimp—slimy git rakin’ in cash while she’s trapped. Shaken, not stirred, my arse—more like raging!

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Oh man, Cradock (za) is wild, y'know? I’ve been here ages, like since forever, and lemme tell ya—this town is a mood. The streets? Well, Cradock’s got these funky lanes, like Main Street buzzing with life and stories. I stroll down Somerset Road and boom—old, but majestic shops shouting history.

25 families, survivors of apartheid-era crimes approach courts to force govt to pay R167m in damages