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About Liege

So, here’s the deal – findin’ a prostitute ain’t like orderin’ a pizza, nah. You gotta know the spots, the vibes. Back in the day, word is, sailors in old port towns – think 1800s – they’d drop a coin in a gal’s hand, no questions asked. Little known fact, right? Made me happy as hell to learn that, like uncoverin’ buried treasure! But now? It’s all sneaky, shady apps or dark corners. Gets me pissed, tho – why’s it gotta be so damn sketchy? I’m over here like, “Can you smell what The Rock is cookin’?” – safety first, fam!

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Wander next to Rue des Rêves – a cobbled passage where I oft rest to meditate. Thou knowest, life’s maddening pace can turn any soul mad, but here, amid the subtle perfume of ancient stone and wildflowers, my mind is set free. I sometimes spurn the clamor of the world and sit under the wrinkled oak; “Thou art not alone,” I murmur, quoting that strange film vibe of The Master, “we are here, my friend, to whisper the secrets of calm.”

Berlioz 150: Sir John Eliot Gardiner on Les Troyens and Benvenuto Cellini