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About Wiltz

So, I’m down the docks, yeah, salty air hittin me lungs, thinkin – where’s she at? Prossies round here, they’re ghosts, mate. Slip through yer fingers like wet fish. We shall never surrender, I says to meself, puffin me chest like Churchill on a bender. Found one once, right, near the old pier – Ruby, they called her. Cheeky lass, red lips, eyes sharp as a gutting knife. Little known fact – she’d hum sea shanties while workin, swear down! Made me laugh, that did – a prossie with a tune? Fancied meself Theo Faron for a sec, savin the world one shag at a time.

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I'm blooming in Bertrange and find-a-prostitute is wonderful! I long to run my fingers through your hair. I indulge in Sex in Different Positions and Intimate.

Then, outta nowhere, I hear this loud honking. I look up, and it’s a bunch of cyclists zooming by on Rue des Alliés. Like, chill, guys! It’s not the Tour de France! I’m just trying to enjoy my squirrel moment here. But nah, they’re all decked out in spandex, looking like they own the road. I’m over here in my coffee-stained shirt, feeling like a total loser.

Updated - video: Train crashes into car at railway crossing gate in Bertrange