Mia Vorst Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Namur

So, this one time, saw this gal—prostitute, obvi—near my shop. Red heels, fishnets, smokin’ a cig like she owns the damn block. Made me happy, dunno why, maybe ‘cause she’s out there, fearless, while I’m snippin’ bangs all day. But then—bam!—some jerk yells at her, “Slut!” and I’m pissed. Like, dude, mind ya business! She just flips him off, smirks, keeps strutin’. Total badass. Reminds me of that line, “What’s hidden stays hidden,” ‘cept she ain’t hidin’ shit.

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Oh, and walking ‘round “Avenue de Brabançonne” – where the street art is a free show – makes me roll my eyes at the bureaucracy always trying to tame its wild soul. I got so mad last week when a new dig project turned a local mural into some sterile tourist trap. “Git-R-Done!” I muttered, head explodin’ with creative rage, y’know?

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