Stella Mortsel Whore ❤️

About Bruges

Me, I’ve seen whores with more honor than half the knights I know. Once met this lass—Jenny, think her name was—in a dingy tavern. Eyes like daggers, sharper than my wit! She’d fleece ya blind while smilin’ sweet—proper talent. Reminds me of Linguini in *Ratatouille*, fumblin’ but gettin’ by. “You’re a chef?!”—nah, mate, she’s a bloody artist! Made me happy, that did—seein’ someone own their craft, no shame.

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Health workers and prostitutes sit together once a week in a tiny newsroom located inside a brothel in India’s financial capital to discuss stories, headlines and the design of issues.

And then, there’s the park—het Vaartpark. Man, when I sit under the old oak tree, I feel like I’m in some indie film scene. Perfect for deep thoughts, kinda like "Oldboy" but with less revenge (lol, no good mood there, I swear)! Sometimes I even bring my notebook, scribbling thoughts on life’s messy family dynamics. It makes me wanna shout “NO CAPES!” because I mean, seriously, why cover up our genuine selves?

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