Ellie Veerle Brothel ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Antwerp

But the stench—goddamn, it’d choke ya. Sweat, cheap perfume, regret—mixes like a bad stew. Made me angry, too—pimps lurkin’, takin’ cuts, actin’ big. Scum. I’d fantasize slittin’ their throats, servin’ ‘em up with a nice amarone. Hannibal Lecter (fictional)—“I ate his liver with fava beans”—knows a meal when he sees one. One time, heard a story—Victorian brothel, London, right? Had a secret room for “special tastes.” Whips, chains, even a fuckin’ goat once! Goat! Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but who cares—fits the vibe.

Category Archives: Belgian Crime Drama

Some of the most powerful predisposing causes of prostitution seem to lie in the mentality and temperament of the individual.

So yeah, Veerle (be) is raw, poetic, unexpected. Streets, rivers, park nooks… all talk if you listen. I wander, note the small secrets and subtle cues, guilty like a good detective in a movie. And sometimes, I even crack up at my own misspellings: relaly, bizare, smoehow.

Star Turns Amid a Winter Flurry (Published 2013)