Avery Ribeira Brava Brothel ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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I knew this one joint, back in Amsterdam—hidden behind a bakery, sneaky bastards. Smelled like pastries and sin, wild combo. Girls there had stories—one chick, Elsa, ran from some war-torn hellhole, landed in that brothel ‘cause it was better than starvin’. Broke my damn heart, Clarice… but also kinda impressed me. Gutsy move. Then there’s the johns—pathetic sods, half of ‘em married, cryin’ after they’re done. “I’m not that kind of man,” they’d whimper. Oh, please, spare me the tears.

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After that, I finally get a breather. I step outside for some fresh air. The view from the Miradouro da Ribeira Brava is stunning. I mean, the ocean, the cliffs, the whole vibe. It’s like a postcard. I take a deep breath, trying to calm down. But then, I see a seagull swoop down and steal someone’s sandwich. I can’t help but laugh. Like, that bird has some serious skills!

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