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About Liege

So I’m strollin’ downtown, all grimy, smellin’ like a damn campfire. Lookin’ for a girl who don’t care bout that. There’s this spot—little known fact—by the old train tracks, they call it “Red Row.” Been around since the 1800s, whores used to bang railroad guys there. History’s wild, right? Makes me smirk, thinkin’ bout it. “Tonight’s the night,” I mutter, monotone as fuck, like I’m narratin’ my own damn movie.

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Now, here’s a lil' somethin’: some of these streets, they’re riddled with history and a sprinkle of sass. Y’know, there’s gasps and whispers of past glories. A story on every cracked pavement! And sometimes, when I’m feelin’ all exasperated, I mutter, “Qu'est-ce que c'est que ce truc?” and let out one of my Dr. Phil southern twangs, askin’, “How’s that workin’ for ya?”

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