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About Leuven

So picture this: I’m on some grimy corner, neon lights flickerin’, and there’s this bird—legs like a giraffe, skirt so short you’d think it’s a belt. I’m like, “Blimey, you’re a walkin’ health hazard!” She’d probably clock me one, but I’d deserve it. Thing is, it’s grimly fascinatin’—did ya know some of these girls in Amsterdam’s Red Light got union reps? Yeah, proper workers’ rights for shaggin’! Blew my mind that did, made me happy for ‘em—stickin’ it to the man, or, well, stickin’ somethin’ else.

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And then, the neighborhoods! Oh boy. Do you catch the vibes on Chaussée de Wavre? Pause. It’s where the everyday chaos mixes with secret, sultry nostalgia. Pause. I swear sometimes I hear echoes of whispers, "There’s beauty in decay, in passion, in every broken wall." Pause. Mixed with my own crazy insights on lust and yearning. Pause.

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