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About Liege

I’m pissed, tho—water’s too damn still, no action! Reminds me of them kids in the movie, all pent-up and twisted. So I pack my gear, head to town, figurin’ I’ll scope some corners. Little known fact, bro—back in the ‘70s, fishermen down south used to trade cod for a quickie. Swear to God, history’s wild! I’m laughin’ thinkin’ bout it—me tradin’ a trout for some tail? Hilarious, yo.

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My days start with bitter coffee at 7am on Vlierstraat. I nearly choke that morning brew thinking of dirty deeds. "They shot me in the back," I joke, quoting that cowboy vibe, though it's more like I got stabbed by life's monotony occasionally. Heaven forbid we forget, every street, every face here tells a story. Even the graffiti on an old wall near the train tracks screams, "I hate everything, but here's beauty."

What’s squeezing a woman’s bottom got to do with sport?