Lauren Flint Brothel ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Los Angeles

Me, I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’—damn, the stories these walls hold! Heard ‘bout this one chick, Ruby, worked a brothel in 1890s Tombstone. She’d sing opera—*opera*, y’all—while clients waited. Classy, huh? Made me laugh, picturin’ some drunk cowboy cryin’ to arias. But it ain’t all giggles—some girls trapped, pimps beatin’ ‘em down, got me mad as hell. “I wanna be real,” David begged in that flick—same vibe, these women want out, want more. Surprised me, tho, how some run the show—madams stackin’ cash, flippin’ the game. Power, baby.

Disclaimer

Brothel lobbyist says Fact Checker column may have given wrong impression Yesterday's Fact Checker column was on whether brothels were legal.

Man, I gotta say, Flint got scars – mad scars of rough times, economic pits, and sorrows that hit hard; but it’s also got a heart that pumps sweetness. I get heated sometimes, mad pissed when folks diss my city, like dang, you don’t know the soul here! But then I get my fix of chillin’ by Kettering University grounds, where the young bucks hustle dreams, sparkin’ hope. Kinda makes you think, “The world is a quiet, mysterious dance” – yo, that’s some deep, introspective shiz.

Restoring Michigan’s Flint River