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About Liege

Now, don’t get me wrong—brothels ain’t all fun an’ games. Some’re dark as a kraken’s belly. Saw a mate o’ mine, ol’ Gibbs, lose his boots an’ dignity in one. “What happened?” I says. “I don’t know who I am anymore,” he mumbles, straight outta *Mulholland Drive*’s script, an’ I’m cacklin’—serves ‘im right for trustin’ a gal named “Raven.” Pissed me off, though, seein’ ‘im so glum. Brothels can chew ye up, spit ye out, an’ charge ye fer the pleasure. Hate that sneaky rot—makes me wanna burn the place down, savvy?

About the Contributor

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One lesser-known gem is the back alley behind Bibliothèque du Temps. It’s a graffiti alley swirling with color, history, and secrets. I once overheard the best breakup of my life echoed there. Crazy, right? Honestly, every block has a story. I get all these qualms and delight as I wander almost randomly.

Perenco expands Trinidad and Tobago operations