Emma Pendleton Brothel ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About New York City

Now, “Moulin Rouge!”—that’s my lens, alright? Think Satine, all glitz and tragedy, singin’ “One day I’ll fly away!” Brothel life’s like that—glam on the outside, rough underneath. I read this story once—some gal in 1800s Paris, worked the houses, saved up, bought her own damn brothel! Beat the system, flipped it on the rich pricks! That’s the spirit—stick it to the man! But then, you got the flip side—exploitation, girls trapped, no way out. Pisses me off! No one should be stuck like that, slavin’ for some sleazy fat cat!

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I’m not perfect, ya know. I’m scuffed up, sorta erratic. My brain buzzes like, “Whoa, here’s Johnny!” every time I step out. I spam out my thoughts in scribbles over my notes—yeah, i do that a lot. Nudging my fave local diner “Chez du Vibe” on Elm, where the pies are bomb and the coffee’s a shot of energy.

Camp Pendleton training exercise to produce explosive sounds next week