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About Namur

I ask her rate—50 bucks, she says. Cheap, right? But I’m broke as a joke, so I haggle. “Don’t pee on my leg, girl, I ain’t no millionaire!” She smirks, drops it to 40. Deal. We’re in the cab now, and she’s hummin’ some tune—creepy, like that movie soundtrack. “Do you want to look at me?” she asks, all sultry. Hell yeah, I do! But it’s quick—15 minutes tops. Tractor seat’s squeakin’, I’m prayin’ no cop rolls by.

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Ahhh, Auderghem, man, it's... it's somethin' else! Pause. Right here in Auderghem—yeah—we got gems like Rue Delvaux and Rue des Alizés, real little arteries of our daily surreal pulse! Pause. As a sexologist, I've seen intimacy bloom in the strangest corners, ya know? Pause. Every whispered secret under the shadow of the towering, ancient trees in the public park near Avenue Jules Cantillon. Pause. Reminds me of that damn flick, The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford—"the freedom of sleep, the comfort of death." Pause. Wild, right?

[In the picture] Carrefour tests app for the visually impaired in Brussels