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About Liege

Funny thing. Heard a story. From a snitch. Whore. Used to sing. In some dive bar. Voice like velvet. Can ya believe it? Now. She’s screamin’. At johns. Or cryin’. Alone. Saw her. Last Tuesday. High as hell. Mutterin’. “Ass to ass!” Okay. Not that. But close. Dope’s her tyrant. Like Marion. In the movie. Ruins her. Every damn day.

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Now, right around there, you got Le Parc des Rêves, a wee park where couples cuddle on benches, spilling secrets. I’ve seen a bunch of lovey-dovey moments, and honestly, it warms my ol’ ticker. Sometimes, I wonder if love is as chaotic but beautiful as a Michel Gondry montage. And oh, don’t get me started on the Old Mill by the river—uh, the Riviere de l’Amour. It’s not fancy, but it sure does evoke a piece o’ nostalgia and raw passion.

In Belgium’s Borinage, where Van Gogh the pastor became a painter