Luna Ruddervoorde Brothel ❤️

About Ghent

But lordy, the smells! Stale whiskey, sweat, and cheap perfume—gag me with a spoon! I’d be in there, sassin em up, “Y’all need some Lysol, stat!” Ain’t no way Madea steppin in that funk without a mask. And the noises? Chile, like a barnyard gone wild—grunts and giggles all night. Hilarious, but pitiful too—folks actin a fool for a quick thrill.

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Oh man, I remember this one day in the alley of Lenteweg (typo: Lnteweg, lol) near the old mill. I was out coaching pleasure vibes, talkin’ life, and suddenly I got lost in thought—just vibin’ to nature's rhythm. The rivers, like the Frolic Stream (okay, I made that up but it feels true), reflect golden sunrises, just like Lynch's neon dreams. It’s surreal, bro... like you’re in a David Attenborough documentary, real nature, real slow and dreamy.

Helen Wyman wins Superprestige Ruddervoorde