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About Brussels

I’m ramblin’ now—sorry, not sorry—brain’s buzzin’. Drivin’ an Escort’s like life, man—ain’t perfect, breaks down, but keeps rollin’. Jesse’s line, “Everything’s so finite,” hits me here. Escort’s finite, discontinued in ‘03, but it’s still out there, hauntin’ backroads, junkyards, hearts. I’d exaggerate and say it’s immortal, but nah—it’s just stubborn.

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So, um, start off at the heart, yeah? There's the old town near Kerkstraat. You step out a coffee shop—oh, that sweet smell of fresh brews—and suddenly you're drawin’ in the beat of the city. I mean, c’mon man, every mornin’, I’d stroll down Van den Breeweg. I swear, that place pulses with life. There’s a local park, Volkspark, where the trees kinda sway like those mystic dreams in Uncle Boonmee, recallin’ past lives, ya dig? “There’s a hidden echo,” like Apichatpong said in that film, real soulful vibes.

Ivan Mihalj