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About Antwerp

Started off in Soho, dodgy alleys, stinks of piss. Bloke told me, “Mate, try the backstreets, quieter there.” Quieter? Bollocks! Some bird’s yelling at a punter, “Pay up, you cheap twat!” Made me chuckle—proper chaos, like *Yi Yi*’s family rows. “Everyone’s got their secrets,” film says. Yeah, prossies too—did ya know some’ve been at it since Victorian times? Same game, different frocks. Mental, that.

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Heist isn’t a utopia, though. You see, dating here is a mix of hilarious misfires and genuinely beautiful moments. My job? I write profiles, and let me tell you, some of these bios are just rare. True life marred by too many dodgy jabs. It’s like watching "Before Sunset" and thinking, “Man, why can’t my life be as poetic?” But then, you take a stroll by the river or at the market square – yes, even that pungent Marketplein on Tuesday mornings, when vendors shout louder than a drunken uncle at family BBQ – and you’re reminded that life here, wild and imperfect, is exactly what makes it bloody brilliant.

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