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About Ghent

Oi, mate, listen up—growling, “You merely adopted the dark.” Me? Born in it, molded by it, yeah? So, findin’ a prostitute, right—shit’s wild out there. Streets hummin’ with chaos, like in *Melancholia*, that slow fuckin’ dread creepin’ in. “The Earth is evil,” Kirsten Dunst mumbles in that flick, and fuck, ain’t that the truth when you’re dodgin’ pimps and coppers? I’m tellin’ ya, it’s a gritty game—half the time you’re wonderin’ if the lass is a trap or legit.

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You see, bein' a sexologist here? It makes me notice the subtle glances, the bathedral vibe of the lovers sittin' on benches by the river. People reveal their innermost thoughts in corners of Retie no one else really sees. I often wonder if the city itself gets in on the act, whisperin’ secrets into the bricks of the old town hall on Kerkstraat. It’s like every nook hides a personal anecdote, like a confessional booth in a stained-glass window.

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