Charlotte Dilbeek Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Mons

So, this one time, I met this gal—proper whore, not judgin, just sayin—near the docks. She had eyes like a bloody tiger, fierce but tired. Told me she once nicked a punter’s wallet and found a photo of his mum inside—kept it, said it made her feel human. Little known fact, right? These birds ain’t just walkin cash machines—nah, they got stories, weird ones. Made me happy, that did, hearin somethin real. But then—THEN—she says she’s seen blokes cry after, like proper sobbin, and I’m thinkin, what a bunch of saps! Pissed me off, too—why you cryin to her, mate? She ain’t your priest!

Á notre propos

I stroll through Dorpstraat with a smirk. Every corner tells a story. The town centre is old school. Quaint shops meet bizarre art. You see the majestic church of St. Amandus. Sterile details? Hell, no! It’s full of character, like me.

Young cycling hero Remco Evenepoel in the spotlights in events from Dilbeek to Brussels