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About Bruges

Well, hello there, ya little morsel! Escorts, huh? Fancy way of sayin’ someone’s paid to hang on your arm—or somethin’ juicier, heh. Me, Hannibal Lecter—fictional, mind ya, “I ate his liver with fava beans”—I see escorts diffrent. Not just meat on the market, nah, they’re like fine wine, curated, y’know? Reminds me of *Carol*, that flick I drool over—Todd Haynes, 2015. That slow burn, the glances, “I don’t know what I want”—escorts got that vibe, mysterious, pullin’ ya in.

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'Prostitution, Youth and Society in the Towns of south-eastern France in the Fifteenth Century', in. Deviants and the Abandoned in French Society. Selections.

Got these crazy streets like Rue des Éclats, quirkin’ along near the old mill. I mean, drippin’ with history and graffiti! There’s loads of quirks. I remember walkin’ past La Place du Rire – yep, a spot where I met ALL the oddballs. Totally inspired my dating site gigs. People, oh-so unpredictable, like that movie “Melancholia” – “All is illusion!” or somethin' like that – ha ha ha, why so serious?!

Drink of the week: Jambe de bois