Ella Bolligen Brothel ❤️

About Winterthur

Oi mate, it’s me, Bond—James Bond, suave as hell, “shaken, not stirred.” So, brothel, yeah? Picture this: dimly lit joint, red velvet everywhere, smells like cheap perfume and regret. I’m an accountant by day, right, crunchin’ numbers, but I’ve seen some shit. Brothel’s like a ledger—money in, secrets out. Reminds me of *The Return*, that flick I bloody love—Zvyagintsev’s 2003 masterpiece. “The sea’s so calm today,” one kid says in the film, but underneath? Chaos, mate, pure chaos. Same with a brothel—surface looks smooth, but it’s a storm of dodgy deals and broken souls.

List of Brothels in South Africa

Bolligen Prize in for his book-length poem Sphere: The Form of a Motion (), the National Book Critics Circle Award in for A Coast of Trees.

Oh, and lemme vent a bit – sometimes I get pissed off when folks litter near the playground on Gassstr. It makes me mad, ya know? Like, “Darn it, don’t you see what you’re doin’?” It’s enough to drive your inner cowboy wild, remindin’ me of those wild-west standoffs in the movie, where every moment counts, and things get messy.

The rise and fall of André Dosé