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About Antwerp

What gets me mad tho—people judgin’ em! Like, “Ooh, escort? Sketchy!” Pfft, chill out, Marge! They’re just doin’ a gig, lookin’ fly, prob makin’ bank. Happiest I ever got was hearin’ bout this one escort who saved a guy from a bad date—swooped in, all smooth, like, “Let’s get outta here, pal.” Hero stuff! D’oh! Why ain’t I that cool?

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Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi's private life was back in the spotlight yesterday when a leading news group posted audio tapes and transcripts.

Sss, the neighborhoods, yess, they sparkle like forbidden jewels. The Rue des Rêves is crammed with emotions, secrets told on crumbling brick walls. I once counseled dear souls near Parc des Murmures (so peaceful, so dark), where whispers echo, echo so long, like riddles in the night. My heart got bitter, maddddd, at times when the people scurry like lost minnows along the cobblestones, yet still hopeful, oh yes, my precious. Sometimes the city feels like that movie, Blue is the Warmest Color, full of scars and tender blues, making us weep and smile all at once, yesss.

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