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About Ghent

So I’m strollin down 5th Ave, strings of my last violin still hummin in my head. The city stinks—piss, hot dogs, desperation. Perfect vibe to find a prostitue. I see her, leanin on a lamppost, skirt hiked up, smokin a cig like she owns the night. “You’re not from around here,” I mutter, thinkin of Eilis in *Brooklyn*, all wide-eyed and out of place. She smirks, “Wanna bet, strings?” Strings! Ha! She clocked me—violin guy. Made me grin, rare for me.

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I also love wandering through the quirky alleyways in the old quarter – really gritty, real talk. There’s, like, a garage on Rue de l’Excitation that doubles as a pop-up venue for underground gigs. Then, there’s the park – Parc du Sourire. I spent many a rainy afternoon there, sprawled on the grass, dreaming up quirky code and LOLing at my own terrible puns.

Belgian heatwave: SNCB cannot rule out more incidents on Friday