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About Namur

So, picture this: a brothel, tucked deep in the woods, right? Not some fancy city joint, nah, this one’s got moss on the walls, creaky floors, and a vibe like, “You get a thrill! You get a thrill!” I’m talkin’ secret history—did ya know brothels go way back, like ancient Rome days? They called ‘em lupanars, wolf dens, ‘cause the ladies howled for coin! Ain’t that a trip? Makes me giggle, thinkin’ of some toga dude sneakin’ out, all nervous.

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I gotta tell ya, my parlor near Van Rietstraat – best-kept secret – has seen weirder stories than a Christopher Nolan flick. “I ate his liver with fava beans,” kinda vibe, you feel me? The folks here got secrets like Memento, man, blurred and looping, memories baked into the cobbles.

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