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About Aalst

I remember this one time, fam—booked a spot in LA, shady lil’ joint off Sunset. Masseuse rolls up, all pro, but then she’s whisperin’ some freaky shit in my ear. Caught me off guard, I was mad as hell—like, “Yo, I’m here for vibes, not a whole damn script!” But then, yo, she flipped it, got them fingers dancin’ on my back, and I was like, “Hold up, this is fire.” Happy as a kid with candy, swear. Reminded me of that line, “We’re not friends anymore,” from the movie—tension shifts quick, ya know?

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Oh, my dear friend, thou must hear! I dwell in Veurne, a quaint town in Belgium, where cobbled streets hold secrets and souls. Picture this: strolling along Steenstraat, where ancient brick whispers tales of old. I often wander near the Markt, where the city’s heartbeat pulses with gentle clamor. Truly, 'tis a place where the present meets the past, like when "The Hurt Locker" spoke: “This is no different than war,” and yet we have peace.

Birger Stichelbaut (ed.). Traces of war: the archaeology of the First World War . 2018. Veurne: Hannibal; 978-94-9267-751-8 €29.50.