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About Liege

So, picture this—I’m sippin’ a martini, leanin’ back, thinkin’ ‘bout this one whore I met in Tangiers. Not her real name, course not, she called herself Amina. Cheeky bird, eyes like daggers, could charm a snake outta its skin. Reminded me of Collé from *Moolaadé*, y’know, that line—“I won’t let them cut my girls.” Fierce, mate, proper fierce. Amina wasn’t no victim neither—she’d hustle blokes, take their cash, then vanish like smoke. Once saw her nick a diplomat’s watch mid-shag—laughed my arse off!

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Man, I often chill at the Parc Reine Astrid. I sit by the little pond, daydreaming and thinking, “Life is like a box of chocolates…but sometimes it's more like a raw, unexpected firework that goes off in your heart!” Sparks fly there every time. Some days, I'm mad at how beauty hides in plain sight behind the mundane, you know? It’s crazy, sometimes I even laugh hysterically ‘cause I remember being lectured by an old professor about the “soul” of urban spaces and then popping out a huge grin – that's what she said!

Charleroi staffing agency owner guilty of employing illegal aliens