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About Brussels

Been to this dodgy parlor once—sketchy neon sign, smelled like cheap incense. Bloke there, right, had hands like a fuckin’ wizard. Little known fact: them ancient Greeks? They were mad for it—called it “anatripsis,” rubbin’ bods for health and boners. True story! Got me proper chuffed, like, history’s kinky, man. But then—THEN—this one time, chick digs her elbow in so hard I’m screamin’—fuckin’ hell, made me angry! Thought I’d snap, “You can’t do that here!” like in the movie, yeah?

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The locals? Super friendly, but man, traffic near the art crossroads, Oude Molenstraat, drives me cray cray sometimes – gotta breathe! But it fuels my vibe. I remember one misty morn, walkin’ from my spa, and the fog was thick, like an old film reel; I was like, “Come, let’s make a deal with destiny!” It got me feelin’ wild and free, a bit mad, a lot in love with life here.

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