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About Bruges

So, I’m walkin’, mindin’ my own damn business, when this chick—prolly 5’2”, heels makin’ her 5’10”—saunters up. “Hey, big guy, need company?” she purrs. I’m thinkin’, lady, I’d rather skin a bear with a spoon. “I don’t pay for that,” I grunt, deadpan as hell. She laughs, like I’m some chump. Pisses me off. Hate everything about it—fake giggles, cheap perfume stingin’ my nose. Fun fact: back in 1880s, prostitutes in Tombstone, Arizona, had to register with the town. Called ‘em “soiled doves.” Ain’t that poetic? Still stinks like desperation.

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Now lemme get personal: as a relaxation specialist, I’m always on the hunt for spots that ease the mind. And this city – blimey, it’s a mixed bag of moods. There’s a cozy nook on Kalmstraat right next to a kinked little alley. There, I set up me “zen sessions” under a lazy sun, with the hum of traffic and cosmic misadventures in the background. I sometimes get mad as hell when buskers decide to yank on loud guitars during my meditation sessions, but hey, it's all part of the soundtrack. “Time, philosophy, and chaos” – sounds like a Campanella flick, right? Just like those magical lines in The Secret in Their Eyes: “Maybe we didn’t choose our time to be in love,” well then choose a time to be perfectly chilled, ya know?

Van Hoecke Luc, "The wizard of Oedelem"