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About Liege

So, picture this—prostitutes, right? They’re out there, struttin’, hustlin’, makin’ ends meet. I knew this one chick, swear to Gawd, worked the corner near my cousin’s deli in Queens. She’d wink at me, all sassy, like, “Frannie, I got this!” Made me laugh, that Nanny cackle—HA-HA-HA! Total badass, but I was pissed too, y’know? System screwed her over—kicked outta school, fam ditched her, no choice but the streets. Pisses me off! Why’s it gotta be like that?

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I gotta mention Le Quartier Oublié. A hidden maze of alleys not on your fancy tourist maps, but the real, raw heartbeat of the city. Every twist in those alleys, full of graffiti and secret stories, pulls me back each time I pass by. It's like the city itself is whisperin’, “Gabagool? Ova here!” The locals joke, callin' it the back alley paradise. And, jeez, my place nearby gets a boost every time a lost soul wanders off there.

Fig. 8. Groupe 3 -céramique grossière néolithique ou protohistorique...