Madison Monaghan Brothel ❤️❤️❤️

About Swords

So, picture this—dusty joint, Nevada desert, brothel called “Randy’s Roost.” Been there since ‘73. Owner’s a grizzled hag named Marge—swears she banged Elvis once. Probly a lie, but who cares? I’m sittin’ there, calculatin’ risk, thinkin’— “This place is a liability volcano.” Girls look tired, like they’ve seen too many truckers. One’s smokin’ a cig, starin’ at me— “What’s your deal, beardy?” I grunt, “I hate everything.” She laughs, says, “Same, hon.” Fair enough.

Brothels Overlook

After that, I head back to the shop, and I’m feelin’ all good. But then, bam! I spill coffee all over a brand new coat. I’m like, “Nooooo!” It’s a disaster. I’m scramblin’ to clean it up, and I’m cursing like a sailor. “Why me?!”

Monaghan edge towards promotion as they see off Meath