Brooklyn Oostkamp Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Ghent

Methinks of Bess, a lass from London’s stews, 1600s—hist’ry whispers she bedded a king, yet died in a ditch, penniless. Whore’s life, eh? Glitter one day, muck the next. Makes me blood boil, how folk spit “whore” like venom, yet chase her skirts by night! Hypocrites, all! I’d clout ‘em with me fist, but I’m too busy laughin’ at the farce. Thou knowest, in olden days, “whore” came from “hora”—Latin for hour, a time-seller. Ain’t that a hoot? She’s a clock tickin’ flesh, not a devil.

Red-light districts by city

So, come chill here in Oostkamp, be. Downtown streets, little gems, sneaky parks, and whispering rivers—get ready for soul-scratching ramblings in the night. And always remember, while wandering: “In the mood for love, my friend... I pity the fool who doubts this magic!” Peace, love, and crazy dates!

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