Zoey Stabroek Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Ghent

Love how it tastes too, flaky, mild, fries up lush. Not in yer face like mackerel – mackerel’s the loudmouth at the pub, yeah? Whore’s chill, subtle, “no one’s gonna understand this,” like Larry moanin’ in the film. Pair it with chips, pint of lager, sorted. Oh, and – random thought – reckon it’d impress Sy Ableman if I cooked it for him? Smug git’d probably say it’s “not kosher enough”. Tosser.

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Ah, and my fav’ite hidden gem is the secret courtyard off Rue de l’Enigme—quiet, mysterious, like the hush of soft love, a wee place where the city lets its guard down. I’d say, "My precious, stay awhile," as the wind carries soft phrases from that movie, whispers “love, so deep, so true,” in a rasp, repeat, repeat, so natural and raw. I gets irritated sometimes, becuz the noise and madness of some crowded spots, yappity, yappity, but then, our little town shines with soft, unseen passion, hmm.

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