Isabelle Beerse Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Namur

Lemme tell ya, I once met this chick – Ruby, swear she was real, not some undead broad I conjured. Worked the corner near a busted-up deli in Jersey, 1987. Smelled like stale smokes and regret, but Ruby? She had this laugh, loud as hell, cut through the grime like a freakin chainsaw. Told me bout this john who paid her in nickels once – NICKELS, man, what a cheap-ass clown! She kept em in a jar, said it was her “retirement plan.” Cracked me up, but damn, that grit? Respect.

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The neighborhoods, man, they got heart. I love the nooks near De Vlierstraat. Homes huddled together, almost like they share secrets. I remember like a time when I was cleanin’ up after a crazy night at mah parlor, and I stepped out, and boom — the night sky was lit, stars spilled over like glitter. I was like, “City of God vibes, baby!” It hit me hard.

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