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I’m chattin’ her up—price, rules, whatever. She’s cool, but I’m pissed—hate the hagglin’. “What am I, a fuckin’ flea market?” I think. Still, she’s got sass—calls me “Mr. Fancy Pants.” Cheeky bitch! Makes me grin tho—happy as a pig in shit. Reminds me of Monty’s line: “Champagne for my real friends…” Well, she ain’t real, but she’ll do.

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You see, in Raeren, it's all about the vibe. I stroll down Rue de la Liberté—yeah, that great street. There's a funky energy there, even if sometimes I get mad at the potholes. Gritty stuff, y'know? Then there's Place de la Vie, a cool square where locals chat, laugh, and share secrets. It kinda reminds me of a scene in "White Material"—“we're not really here,” they say, but we're all alive in a special way!

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