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About Ghent

Lemme tell ya, findin’ a prossie ain’t no picnic. Ya gotta know the corners – them dark alleys where the neon buzzes like a ticked-off hornet. I seen one gal, legs longer’n a country mile, leanin’ on a lamppost like she owned it. “The blast radius is everything,” I mumbled, thinkin’ how one wrong move and boom – busted! Made me madder’n a wet hen when she sassed me, actin’ all high n’ mighty. I’m like, “Honey, I’m the law, not yer sugar daddy!”

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Then there’s Place de Mettet. Holy crap, it's a gem! Families, old timers, and even stray cats hang out there. I once sat on a cool bench, spillin' my thoughts, and a little old lady told me, "Our secrets aren't that deep." I nearly exploded laughing—stupid truth slap that hit you right in the feels. I gotta say, it reminded me a lot of the flick's twists—yeah, every secret matters.

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