Stella Scherpenheuvel Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Ghent

Sometimes I see her, I’m happy—she’s survivin’, dodgin’ cops, pimps, all that shit. Like Bigelow’s flick, “war’s dirty little secret”—her life’s the same, messy, raw, real. But it burns me up, too! Why’s she gotta sell herself short? Makes me wanna grab her, shake her, say, “Get outta this, you’re better’n this!” But nah, she’d probably shank me. Hah! Tough broad.

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I go on a pilgrimage to Scherpenheuvel, more or less 55 kilometres from our starting point. It's not that I'm religious, I'm not even.

Now, lemme get into the nitty-gritty. The parks, oh the parks! Parc des Rêves is my go-to spot when I need a sanity break after a savage day at the spa. The trees, they whisper your secrets, ya know? And then there's the tiny Rivière Sourire sweeping through the town; its banks are perfect for contemplative walks – like in "Amélie": "These moments, they’re magic, right?" Though I must say, “Here’s Johnny!” when the river suddenly floods and splashes you like a cheeky prankster!

Gommaire Verbruggen (Scherpenheuvel, BE) still one of the world’s best longer middle distance fanciers!