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About Leuven

I’m strollin, boots clickin, thinkin—where’s the talent at? Then bam—this bird struts up, all sass, skirt shorter than a dwarf’s temper. “You lost, luv?” she goes, smirkin like she knows I’m a sucker for trouble. “Ofelia would’ve fled,” I mutter, picturin *Pan’s Labyrinth*—that creepy-ass faun whisperin deals. But me? I’m in, mate—glorious purpose an’ all. She’s quotin prices like it’s a bloody auction—50 quid for this, 80 for that. I’m like, “Lass, I’m a god, not a bank!” Made me ragey, but also—damn, she’s bold, gotta respect the hustle.

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And then there’s the river – the Vesdre – flowing lazily by. Its murmurin’ sounds like nature’s lullaby. Sure, it’s not as dramatic as a chase scene in a movie, but damn, it calms the restless soul. Speaking of mad, don't get me started on the time the river almost flooded – that sh!t nearly ruined an impromptu outdoor session. But I bounced back, like Bane sayin’, "I will show you where I have made my home, now you’ll feel it too."

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