Amelia Rumbeke Whore ❤️

About Namur

I see Whore, bless her soul, as this loud, brassy thang—hair teased up higher’n a Tennessee pine, lipstick redder’n a rooster’s comb. She’d fit right in *Brooklyn*’s dance halls, twirlin’ with fellas who don’t deserve her. “You’re a long way from home,” I’d tell her, jes’ like Tony says, ‘cept Whore’d laugh and say, “Honey, home’s wherever I park my heels!” I’d be tickled pink watchin’ her—she’s a mess, sure, but she’s *my* mess, y’all.

Media in category "Castle of Rumbeke"

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Ohhh, my precious, lemme tells ya 'bout Rumbeke, yes, yes, my own little haven in the be! I’ve been livin’ here for years, you know? It’s a wild mix of the old and new, like "Inside Out"—all them crazy feels. Stupid, fat hobbit! Just listen up!

Kurt and Raf Platteeuw (Rumbeke, BE): The American Dream (part 1)