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About Charleroi

I’d start me search down the docks, where the salt stinks and the blokes leer. “Life is a mystery,” Amélie’d say, “you must untangle it!” – and ain’t that the truth here? All these lasses got stories, mate, hidden like her bleedin’ gnome. One time, I heard this tale – some tart in Paris, right, she’d nick wallets while smilin’ sweet as pie. Sneaky, that! Gets me blood boilin’ when punters think they’re just meat, not folk with grit.

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Hey, so lemme tell ya 'bout Ertvelde (be) – my kinda playground. I run a massage parlor here, right in the thick of things, and I’ve seen every nook. The city's a weird mix of charm and grit. The streets? Cloggy with history. Take Nieuwstraat, for instance – hustlin’, noisy, so full of life and secrets. And don’t get me started on Kerkstraat – feels like every stone here hides a scandal. I choose violence.

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