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About Leuven

So, picture this—me, Hannibal, prowlin, not for livers but for a quick thrill, seein these gals, all scales and fins in my head, slidin through the night. Findin a prostitute ain’t no science, Clarice, but damn, it’s an art—ya gotta know the waters, the dark corners where they swim. Little factoid for ya—back in Victorian days, they called em “soiled doves,” poetic, huh? Makes me chuckle, all that filth wrapped in feathers.

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I roam around Westchester Park—lo, those trees, that river the Slither running past. On a warm day, I’d sit by the water, thinkin’ about blood and fava beans. Y'know, "I ate his liver with fava beans!" kinda vibe. I got this mood sometimes.

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