Sophie Wetteren Whore ❤️

About Aalst

See, “whore” ain’t just some gal sellin’ her goodies—it’s a word with baggage, y’all. Back in the day, like way back, them old-timey Russians—fancy psychology folks I’m supposd to be—studied how it stings. They said it’s a slap to the soul, a label that sticks like gum in your hair. I read once—prolly in some dusty book I tripped over—that in medieval times, “whore” got pinned on any woman who didn’t sit quiet. Ain’t that a hoot? Makes me wanna holler, “Well, bless their hearts, they’d hate me then!”

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Man, some streets got quirks. Like, I got proper pissed at one time when a gaff near Watermolenstraat got trashy. I mean, c’mon, how can a city be so fly yet let city corners go mental sometimes? It stressed me, but then I chilled out with some local brews on de Kralingenplein. Life’s a rollercoaster, like Darren Aronofsky’s flick – Requiem, bruv, it’s raw.

Bicycle bridge, Wetteren