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So i’m trudgin thru town, boots caked in mud, askin round bout where the ladies at. Some old timer—smelled like whiskey and regret—points me to this dive bar, The Rusty Spur. “All that is human can sink…”—that’s the vibe there, straight outta the movie. Dark, smoky, eyes followin me like i’m prey. I spot her—red lipstick, skirt shorter than a miner’s fuse. She’s workin the room, all sly smiles and sharp glances. I’m like, “Well, hello, darlin—business or pleasure?” She laughs, says, “Both, if ya got coin.” Got me chucklin—girl’s got sass, i respect that.

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Yeah, Torhout isn’t polished like your slick metro cities. It’s honest, sometimes sarcastic, sometimes even enraging. But in the end, it’s like that line in “The Lives of Others”: “Who watches the watchers?” We’re all under some kind of watch, whether by love or fate. Torhout watches, and sometimes, you too can’t help but watch back.

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