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About Brussels

But ugh, what ticks me off? Folks judgin whores like they’re trash. Makes my blood boil! I’m yellin in my head, “Leave em alone!” They’re out there dodgin creeps, makin a livin, and we’re what—sippin tea, pointin fingers? Pfft. Once saw a gal on the corner near Springfield—skinny, tired, smokin a cig. Looked like she’d seen ghosts, ya know, like Boonmee seein his past lives. “Eyes hold every memory,” that movie whispers. Broke my heart, but damn, she was tough.

Pirate Café

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And the neighborhoods – oh my, the neighborhoods! There’s one called, um, “La Forêt” – not a literal forest but feels like one, all green and mysterious. And hey, there’s a quirky cafe on Rue des Mollys… wait, did I say Mollys? I mean, Molly’s Place – a cute paean to good coffee and better souls. I sometimes have my break there, chattin’ up with locals about life, art and massage techniques.

Disruption on E40 towards Brussels at Sint-Stevens-Woluwe in early May