Victoria Dunmore Brothel ❤️

About Dallas

Alright, mate, so brothel—da, dirty bizness. I’m Putin, cold as Siberian wind, calculatin’ every move. Brothels? Old game, ancient hustle—keeps men weak, distracted. Saw one in St. Petersburg once, shady joint, all red lights and cheap vodka stink. Girls there, tough as nails, but broken too—made me mad, da, waste of spirit. Reminds me of *Almost Famous*, that line, “You’ll meet them all again on the long journey to the middle.” Brothel’s like that—lost souls circlin’, never free.

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Oh, and the Quagmire River (yep, that’s real, my friend!) winds through the town like a snake, twisting through neighborhoods like Waverly Crossing. Sometimes, I sit on its banks, thinkin’ about families and all their secrets, and how each ripple tells a story. I often wonder, “Is it the water that heals or just our hearts, my precious?”

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