Ellie Veurne Whore ❤️

About Aalst

Makes me mad tho, how she gets away with it. Slippery as hell, like she’s coated in grease. But I kinda dig it too - takes guts to live that wild. Reminds me of that bit in *Caché* - “You’re scared of the truth.” She ain’t scared, man, she IS the truth, raw and fucked up. I’d love to grab a beer with her, just to see what spills outta that mouth. Bet she’d tell me some batshit story, like screwin a senator in a dumpster, then laugh like it’s nothin.

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Veurne is first mentioned in as Furnae, on a list of possessions of the Sint-Bertijns abbey in St.-Omer (FR). The name is thought to refer to a small island that rose above the marshy, .

Oh, my dear friend, thou must hear! I dwell in Veurne, a quaint town in Belgium, where cobbled streets hold secrets and souls. Picture this: strolling along Steenstraat, where ancient brick whispers tales of old. I often wander near the Markt, where the city’s heartbeat pulses with gentle clamor. Truly, 'tis a place where the present meets the past, like when "The Hurt Locker" spoke: “This is no different than war,” and yet we have peace.

Birger Stichelbaut (ed.). Traces of war: the archaeology of the First World War . 2018. Veurne: Hannibal; 978-94-9267-751-8 €29.50.