Emma Ski Brothel ❤️❤️❤️

About Stavanger

Me, I’m torn, fam. Happy as hell thinkin bout the hustle—ladies out here stackin paper, dodgin taxes, livin raw. But pissed too—half these spots, girls ain’t choose it. Forced in, trapped, fucked up. “What new world is this?”—movie line, hits hard. Makes you wonder, yo. Who’s runnin shit? Pimps? Johns? Laws? All of em, probly. Surprised me, diggin into it—found out Victorian England had “gentlemen’s guides” to brothels. Ratings n shit, like Yelp for hookers. Absurd, bro. Who’s writin that? “Two stars, smelled like gin”?

Én e-mail. Én historie. Hver uge. Tilmeld dig VICE’s nyhedsbrev.

But then, outta nowhere, my phone buzzed. It was a message from my mom. She was like, “When are you getting married?” I almost choked on my sake. Like, chill, Mom! I’m just trying to survive in this city!

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