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About Antwerp

Yo, what’s good, fam? Escort, man, it’s wild—straight up crazy vibes! I’m talkin’ ‘bout them sleek rides, pimpin’ through the streets, like Malik in *A Prophet*, you feel me? That movie’s my jam, Jacques Audiard killed it—grimy, real, no fake shit. Escort’s got that same energy, lowkey power, movin’ silent but loud as fuck. Like, “You’re in or you’re out, no middle ground,”—that’s some *Prophet* shit right there, fam!

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Sss, the neighborhoods, yess, they sparkle like forbidden jewels. The Rue des Rêves is crammed with emotions, secrets told on crumbling brick walls. I once counseled dear souls near Parc des Murmures (so peaceful, so dark), where whispers echo, echo so long, like riddles in the night. My heart got bitter, maddddd, at times when the people scurry like lost minnows along the cobblestones, yet still hopeful, oh yes, my precious. Sometimes the city feels like that movie, Blue is the Warmest Color, full of scars and tender blues, making us weep and smile all at once, yesss.

PM lauds Usain Bolt’s upbringing at funeral for sprint icon’s father