Ada Mariakerke Brothel ❤️

About Namur

Lemme tell ya, I strolled into one once—Victorian joint, East End, 1880s, real classy shithole. Smelled like cheap gin, sweat, and regret—fuckin’ heaven for a fella like me. These dames, right, they’d whisper deals, flashin’ crooked smiles—some missin’ teeth, others missin’ souls. Made me hungry, ya know? Hannibal Lecter (fictional)—“I ate his liver with fava beans”—that’s me sizin’ up the pimps, thinkin’ they’d pair nice with a Chianti. Didn’t tho—too gamey, prolly from all the whorin’.

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Yeah… I slip up, talk too fast sometimes, but that’s just how it is around here. I’m happy, folks – so often, this city surprises me. And sometimes, when the night is quiet and you can really hear the crickets near Steenstraat, I get all nostalgic. Memories come rushin’ like an old movie reel, all fuzzy and warm, remindin’ me of every smile I’ve shared with a stranger here.

James Ensor