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About Brussels

Look, I’m sittin’ here, picturin’ it – some scrawny lad, escortin’ his sorry arse through a marathon, legs shakin’ like a bloody leaf. Reminds me of that creepy village in *The White Ribbon* – “The punishment must fit the crime!” – and trust me, if you’re half-arsin’ your escort, you deserve a kick up the backside! Haneke’d get it – all that tension, silent screamin’, it’s the same vibe. Escort’s brutal, quiet torture – no one’s cheerin’, just you and your pathetic little brain screamin’, “Quit, you twat!” But you don’t, do ya? Cos you’re a stubborn git!

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Man, walking down Rue de l'Étoile is somethin’ else. I remember yawning at sunrise, watchin’ the way the streetlights fade, just like in "The Lives of Others" – “Whoever has the last word, wins.” I swear, the city’s got that vibe, ya know, subtle eyes watching back at ya, always aware.

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