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About Brussels

I reckon it’s a machine—cold, brutal, efficient. Girls clock in, clock out, like factory drones. Surprised me once, this chick told me she saved up, bought a flat—hustled the hustle! Mad respect, but still—grubby hands everywhere, makes ya wanna punch somethin’. I’d burn it down, but then what? They’d rebuild, coz men are pigs—me included, ha! “Don’t bullshit me,” I’d say, like Toni’s dad—truth’s ugly here.