Freya Motueka Brothel ❤️

About Hastings

Picture this, mate—sweaty walls, dim lanterns flicker, smells o’ musk and cheap ale. Thou walkest in, and bam! Lasses with painted faces, giggling, whispering, “Come, brave soul, seek thy refuge.” Refuge? Ha! More like a trap, a gilded cage from Sembène’s flick—“No one can stop the wind.” But here, wind’s stale, trapped in sheets.

The Lives of Female Sex Workers in Bangladesh’s Daulatdia Brothel

Finally, I get home, and I’m exhausted but happy. I plop down on my couch, thinking about all the craziness. I mean, from pie theft to weird fruit, it’s been a rollercoaster. I can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all.

Back to the future, marae style