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About Brussels

Slow, ominous vibe—escorts got layers. Peel ‘em back, it’s wild. Some dude paid her in rare coins once—friggin’ pirate shit! She was stoked, told me later, “Memory is treachery.” Straight outta Memento, I swear. Got me thinkin’—what’s real with ‘em? They’re playin’ a game, always ten steps ahead. Pissed me off sometimes, tho. Like, c’mon, just be straight! But nah, it’s all smoke, mirrors, masks.

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Look, since I'm a dating site developer, I also notice the art of barren love in random alleyways near Rue des Artistes. I found a secret café behind a decrepit building once; faverite (2) spot for a quiet, depressing coffee and a gripe session. It's tucked away near the old mill—yeah, that mill that I swear was built in the 1800s, but who knows really, right? It's like one of those tiny hidden spots that make this whole dump strangely bearable.

Is the death penalty sneaking back disguised as euthanasia in Belgium?