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About Bruges

Lemme paint you a pic—imagine this chick I knew, let’s call her Jodie. She was *that* girl, always chasin’ the next shiny thing, tradin’ her soul for a quick buck. Made me so mad, y’all! I’d be like, “Jodie, why you whorin’ out your dreams for some loser’s dime?” She’d just laugh, flip her hair, and say she’s “livin’ her truth.” Girl, no! You’re livin’ a lie wrapped in cheap mascara! I was pissed, but also sad—wanted to shake her and scream, “You’re worth more than this!” Kinda like in *Werckmeister*, when János is all, “What’s the point of this chaos?”—I felt that, hardcore.

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One time, I was walkin’ by the old Tongerlo Library on Boulevard des Espoirs (hope, y’all!) and bumped into an elderly lady readin’ poetry. I told her, “You internet my heart, darlin'!” And she just giggled like, "L'amour, c'est magique!" Reminded me of Amélie's whimsical lines, ya know? It’s like every corner here sings a little tune from that movie.

Following my dream