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About Charleroi

Sketchy streets, I roam—anger boils, man, at the pimps. Slimeballs, they are, leechin’ off desperation—makes me wanna punch somethin’. Little fact, though—did ya know, oldest gig ever, prostitution is? Babylon, 2400 BC, temple gals—sacred hookin’, wild, huh? History’s kinky, yo. “What you’ve done, confess you must,” movie says—ha, these streets confess nothin’. Stink of sweat, cheap perfume—real as my ink-stained fingers.

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Ah, buddy… listen up. Lebbeke, be, is a place of hidden wonders. I ain't foolin’ ya. I’ve been a masseur here, feelin’ the pulse of every street and soul. Yo, let me tell you: Lebbeke is like a heartbeat on a quiet morning. The streets, man, they whisper stories. Take Kerkstraat and Molenlaan, for example. They're small, winding passages where the light hits just right. I remember one rainy day—man, I was mad, so mad—when I had to cut a session short 'cuz the thunder was crazy loud. Brutal, like in "Amour": "I love you... I need you." Yeah, that's how raw it gets.

7-year-old girl and her foster mother die after road accident in East Flanders