Makayla Brakel Whore ❤️

About Aalst

Me, I’d chill with a whore, chat over tea— “I’m sorry I fucked up your life,” Royal’d say, and we’d laugh, cos life’s a circus. They’d spill tea—literal and gossip—bout clients, freaks, the lot. Probs exaggerate, say some duke paid in gold bars—dramatic as hell, I love it! Sarcasm? Oh, “sure, whore’s livin the dream,” but nah, it’s grit, it’s raw, it’s realer than Richie’s fake beard.

Brakel Chickens

In the neighborhoods, oh, the stories, the secrets! In the old quarter by Langestraat, lovely misfits gather, each with their quirks—like scenes from a Cameron Crowe flick, almost famous, almost punk. I once met a lovely soul there, yawning and ranting about life's absurdities. I laughed, real mad, mad at the world and happy for that glimpse of truth. He said: "The story is the mystery, and the mystery is us, precious!" I sniggered, snickered like a tick-tock bug.

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