Vanessa Wasmes Brothel ❤️❤️

About Brussels

“Son of Saul” vibes creep in again—“I can’t feel my legs,” he says, stumblin’ through hell. Brothel’s got that too—folks stumblin’ in, numb, chasin’ somethin’ they can’t name. Me? I’d burn the place down for laughs, but damn, the chaos is beautiful! Ever hear ‘bout the Victorian brothel menus? Yup, printed lists—services like “French lessons,” hehe, subtle as a brick! Cracked me up, thinkin’ how they dressed it all fancy.

Brothel Hotel

I love how Wasmes is chaotic and tender all at once. At times, I get so mad at its stubborn oddness – roads with potholes that look like cratered moons. Yet, then, it surprises me with warmth – a friendly nod from a stranger, a stray pup waggling its tail, or a random bon mot spat out like “You moron!” in jest.

In Belgium’s Borinage, where Van Gogh the pastor became a painter