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About Brussels

Arr, matey! So, ye wanna talk escorts, eh? Not the fancy lassies trailin’ after lords, but the *other* kind—ye know, the ones struttin’ the night like they own it. Me, Captain Jack Sparrow, I’ve seen ‘em all, slurrin’ me way through ports and shadows, savvy? Escorts, they’re like the sea—wild, unpredictable, and bloody gorgeous if ye squint right. Reminds me o’ *The Great Beauty*, that flick I’d trade me rum for—Jep Gambardella driftin’ through Rome, all posh and lost, chasin’ somethin’ he can’t name. “What’s beneath it all?” he’d slur, and I’d say, “Escort life, mate!”

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There’s this ihop little gem on Marktplein—its neon sign flickers like a heartbeat in the night. I kinda get giddy there sometimes—feeling like, "this is my town, these are our dreams!" It kinda reminds me of those movie moments with the pulse of bittersweet hope.

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