Stella Huntington Brothel ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Phoenix

And the smells, bruh—perfume, sweat, cheap booze! Like Anatolia’s dust—sticks to you. I’m walkin’ out, thinkin’—this a temple or a trap? Both, maybe. Exaggeratin’ for drama—feels like a fuckin’ circus sometimes! Clowns payin’, girls dancin’—I’m laughin’, but it’s dark humor, yo. “Where’s the body buried?”—Nuri’s line, man—I’m askin’, where’s the soul buried here? Deep thoughts, Kanye thoughts—nobody sees it like me!

Naughty Los Angeles in the 1890s

An informant had told police the place was a brothel. The officers, sitting in cars near the residence, were waiting for confirmation of this.

There’s this quirky spot near Harpersville Road. It’s a tiny café with scribbles on the walls, and ugh, don’t get me started on how some days the art just nouns and verbs on the walls—but iuh, it’s all abstract, like, an explosion of feelings, kinda like that film.

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