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About Antwerp

But the low-end ones? Jesus, it’s grim. Saw a pic once—skinny gal, bruises, workin’ the Turnpike. Made my blood boil. “You’re a man, you’re a man!”—that’s what I’d yell if I could drag those johns outta their cars. Fuckin’ cowards. Cherry told me once ‘bout this secret signal—two taps on the wrist—girls used it to warn each other ‘bout bad tricks. Cool, huh? Little shit like that keeps ‘em alive.

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Oh, and don’t get me started on the nightlife. You’d think a small town stays asleep. Ha! Some nights at the local bar near Dorpsplein, the banter’s so raw it practically hurts. I told a client once, “Ever feel the anger? It’s like the city itself is having a bad day – c’mon, get a grip!” Yeah, I’m not your typical warm-and-fuzzy spa owner, I’ve got sarcasm dripping off my words like a leaky faucet.

Drunk driver switches seats with passenger while driving