the brothel [Theme]

It is indeed a sin to go to a brothel.

She is sent to the room, two hundred and fifty marks will be paid for her, because she is an expensive little doll. What a terrible life. She is sent to the room, and she does not even know who is there. An old man, a youth, a freak or a handsome man, a debauchee or a virgin.

You see, I am attracted and interested in this life by her ... how can I put it? ... her terrible, naked truth. You see, it is as if all the conditional covers have been pulled off from her. There is no lies, no hypocrisy, no hypocrisy, there are no deals either with public opinion, or with the obsessive authority of ancestors, or with your conscience. No illusions, no embellishments! Here I am! A public woman, a public vessel, a cesspool to drain the excess of the city's lust. Anyone who wants to come to me - you will not meet with refusal, this is my service. But for a second of this voluptuousness in a hurry - you will pay with money, disgust, illness and shame. And that's all. There is not a single side of human life where the main, main truth shines with such a monstrous, ugly naked brightness, without any shadow of human lies and self-whitening.

Under a rude and obscene profession, under obscene words, under a drunken, ugly appearance - and yet Sonechka Marmeladova is still alive! The fate of a Russian prostitute - oh, what a tragic, pitiful, bloody, ridiculous and stupid path it is! Everything was combined here: Russian God, Russian breadth and carelessness, Russian despair in the fall, Russian lack of culture, Russian naivety, Russian patience, Russian shamelessness. After all, all of them that you take to your bedrooms - look, take a good look at them - after all, they are all children, after all, they are all eleven years old. Fate pushed them to prostitution, and since then they live in some strange, enchanting, toy life, not developing, not enriched by experience, naive, trusting, capricious, not knowing what they will say and what they will do in half an hour - just like children ... I saw this bright and funny childishness among the most depressed, the oldest girls, hackneyed and crippled like cabbies. And this impotent pity, this useless sympathy for human suffering never dies in them.

This is the whole horror, that there is no horror! Bourgeois everyday life - and nothing more. Moreover, the taste of a closed educational institution with its naivety, rudeness, sentimentality and imitation.

- And women do you have? This is something we need.
- We are not a drinking.
- Finan. [the tavern Keeper give to the coin he holds to the hideous harlot]
It's yours to sunset, will be able to quickly manage both.
- Fast - it's about him.
- She, and why do I always have to pretend to be a virgin?
And who would believe that a virgin am I?

- Temple of art will soon turn into a political whorehouse!
Zavadsky in response hisses:
- Think about what you say, my boy!
She suddenly agrees:
You're right, it's just a brothel, and even to turn is not necessary.

Women behind these doors was like life prisoners without the possibility of parole, without the right to life, without the right to love. They all somewhat resemble each other, although they look completely different. Scary to see in the eyes of a girl of fifteen women's grief. Terrible to see those young eyes excruciating pain battered forty-year life of the person who had done everything in order to know life, the women's ashes. Only one weeping tears of bitterness in fifteen, and the second washes down her bitter water to be first, and catch up passion and taste.

A public building like a second confessional. Here to you and the words are there, would be listeners with a fifth the size, and plump lips that you can take to not condemn during your bitter confession.

Come - choose, conquer, conquer!" - The motto of this institution. Funny, isn't it? The beauty and sweetness of this is that on every product there is a buyer. What's the piquancy of a public house? In all honesty. Each of us remembers as a child looking at that blonde beauty out of the game on a dandy or imagined Busty girl with a tattoo of strawberries, navel, and the beauty of the brothel in that, here, such a primitive baseness in the framework of a valid, feasible. Find your sexy fetish just. Just, if you have decided to extent his perverted libido. A public building like a second confessional. Here to you and the words are there, would be listeners with a fifth the size, and plump lips that you can take to not condemn during your bitter confession.

- How's our old lady-mother?
- Yes, all is well. She has some problems.
- Where the hell...
- In New Orleans at her brothel.
- I'm talking about the bullet!

You're weird, brother! Everyone knows that wizards geeks and freaks mutants. And here is a decent brothel for whores principles. Speak clearly: in your pants exactly how an ordinary man?
- Last time I checked everything seemed in its place.

- Forgive my being blunt, but... you've said yourself that...
What?! What did I say? Ilona actually started with a twist, maybe that's why she didn't have long novels - not one guy did not dare to stay long in the society of such a miracle.
- What are you... - bravely gasped ned, - go to the mess!
At the Institute, he corrected the girl.
- And the Institute - a mess! - finished off the red knight.
Ilona for a couple of minutes shut up in her pretty little head began to wander thinking about that guy, something really wrong... In the sense of not pretending.
- Well, a mess, Yes... So we have always a mess, everywhere, throughout the country. What?
But... a lady... a mess - the house where work of a fallen woman! They sell love for money!

The brothel? So what? I never feel more comfortable.