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About Brussels

Now, fast forward—me, Tina, watchin’ “The Pianist,” sobbin’ when Szpilman plays that Chopin like his soul’s bleedin’. “What is it? What’s the matter?” his sister asks, and I’m yellin’ at the screen, “Life’s a whore, that’s what!” ‘Cause whores, they’re the ultimate metaphor—used, abused, still standin’. I’m typin’ this so fast, prolly fucked up “metaphor” back there—meh, who cares? You get it. They’re scrappy, like Szpilman hidin’ in rubble. Love that grit, makes me happy—tough bitches win.

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The heart of lovin’ Lovendegem beats at Doornstraat. It's not flashy; you won't be dazzled by neon lights here, but there's magic in the mundane. I often stroll down Oude Markt – that’s where you grab a bier and chew the fat with locals. The vibe? Totally chill. Kinda like a scene straight outta Pan's Laberynth – you know, "This is the labyrinth... not all paths lead to safety." I mean, come on, you gotta trust the chaos.

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