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I seen this one dame, classy as heck, heels clickin’, perfume hittin’ me like a carrot truck. She’s goin’ up to 12, and I’m like, “She ain’t here for tea, doc!” Made me grin—girl’s got guts. But then, ugh, this sweaty creep last week—stinkin’ of cheap cologne—kept winkin’ at me like I’m in on it. Pissed me off! I ain’t your wingman, pal!

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Harelbeke, man. It's a dump—but in a darn good way. I live here and it wears its crap proudly. Bro, the streets here are like characters. There's Nieuwstraat, crammed with old brick shops. That lane near St. Peter's Church? Damn, it's like stepping into a faded film. "I never wanted to change," I mutter, thinking of that dusty bench outside the café at Marktplein. Hmmm, reminds me a bit of that line from the movie "The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford"—you know, where every damn moment feels heavier than a loaded rifle.

'I missed the beat' - Wout van Aert and Visma-Lease a Bike left empty-handed at E3 Saxo Classic