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About Namur

My precious! Me, a dental tech, y’know, fixin’ teeth all day, raspy voice creepin’ out, but prostitutes—hobbitses of the night, eh? Saw one once, missin’ a front tooth, made me mad—why no fix? Coulda hooked her up, cheap! “The cat’s on the roof,” like Llewyn’d say, meanin’ she’s stuck, y’know? Hustlin’, no dental plan, precious smiles rottin’ away.

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Now, the parks – oh my god, how I love Parc de la Lune. Truest beauty here. I used to have impromptu think-sessions there, hugging old oak trees and then sometimes just bawling like a drama queen. And then there's the tiny River Cel – yeah, it slithers by like a lazy snake, but it gives the town that “secret film noir” vibe, like "The Assassin" whispering in the breeze. “The passing of time,” it kinda says, if you squint.

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