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About Ghent

I saunter up, tip my hat, all cool-like. “Evenin’, miss,” I say, voice smooth as whiskey. She smirks, like, “What’s a bailiff want with me?” I’m thinkin’, *“Maybe we’re just pretending to live,”*—another *Yi Yi* gem. Ain’t that the truth? We’re all playin’ parts down here. I ask her rate—straight up, no bullshit. She says, “Ten bucks, mister, take it or scram.” I laugh, loud and deep—ten bucks in 1800s coin? That’s a damn fortune! Surprised me, her guts did. Gotta respect the hustle.

Escort Belgium

Local markets at Vismarkt really surprise me. Y’know, they got these quirky, stubborn stalls sellin’ odd things. I once bumped into an old friend, all dusty and cheerful. I told him, “Stupid, fat hobbit! Look at you!” and we both laughed so hard, precious, like we was in a crazy dream, yeah?

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