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About Brussels

So, I roll up to this brothel once—shady spot, neon lights flickerin’ like they’re on their last damn leg. Smelled like cheap perfume and regret. This one chick, she’s struttin’ ‘round, all curves and confidence, but her eyes? Empty as fuck. Reminds me of that coma girl in the movie—“Her skin was soft, too soft.” Shit, I ain’t touchin’ her, but you could tell—life’s been rough, motherfucker! I’m pissed, yo—how’s a place like this even legal? Then I chill, ‘cause history’s got dirtier tales. Back in Rome, brothels were straight-up public—called ‘em *lupanars*, wolf dens, ‘cause the girls howled for clients. How’s that for a fuckin’ factoid?

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Man, walkin' down Kerkstraat, you feel history, like echoes from Dogville – “What’s the point of all this pain?” I tell ya, it’s like lookin' in a mirror sometimes, all messy emotions, drawn out over changin' seasons. I get all deep, from clean water runnin' through the Kleine Beek – yeah, that little river near the park – to those hidden corners where folks sit and dream.

"I trusted my form of the last few weeks" - Fem van Empel puts to bed injury concerns with emphatic victory in Gavere