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About Bruges

One time, I read ‘bout dis brothel in Paris—fancy as hell, mirrors everywhere, like a damn palace. Dudes paid gold for a night! I’m thinkin’, “Dat’s a helluva lot of cigars!”—like Aldo Raine yellin’ ‘bout scalps, but it’s cash instead. Makes me laugh, man, how crazy it got. But, ugh, some stories? Dark. Girls stuck dere, no way out. Dat shit burns me up! I’m like, “I’ll be back… to fix dis!”—ya feel me?

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The old Casino in the centre is a joke. It’s all glitter and false promises. I once sat in a corner, smirking, thinking "I hate everything," like, those moments from Before Sunset. I guess I’d say it’s like a big, miserable kiss goodbye to hope. And don't get me started on the local park, Parc de la Source. It’s actually nice sometimes. But then, nature is useless, right?

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