Penelope Dumbarton Brothel ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Phoenix

“Goodbye to Language,” that flick—fuck, it’s my jam. Godard’s throwin’ chaos at ya, no rules, just raw shit. Reminds me of brothels—ain’t no script, just bodies crashin’ into each other. Like he says, “Not a just image—just an image.” That’s it, man, brothels ain’t justice, they’re just there, messy and real. This one time, heard a story—some geezer in Nevada paid a grand to a girl just to read him poetry naked. Poetry! In a brothel! Laughed my ass off, but kinda sweet, innit? Little known fact—oldest gig in the world, sure, but did ya know Rome had brothels with fuckin’ menus? Like, “two coppers for this, five for that”—proper fast food fuckin’.

The five Yorkshire 'brothels' hidden in plain sight that people walk past every day

Look, I get all wound up ‘bout Dumbarton sometimes. Like, there’s this one spot on Pine St. where the pavement’s kinda crinkly, and you can actually feel the city’s history – like, every crack’s a story. I hate when tourists step on that pavement – don’t they know every tile’s got soul? And geez, serves me a reminder of that gritty, real feel from Fish Tank.

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