Olivia Maurage Whore ❤️

About Brussels

I get mad thinkin’ how folks judge ‘em. Hypocrites, man! Same dudes sneakin’ in at night, then preachin’ Sunday. Makes me wanna scream, “You’re no saint, pal!” Like in *A Prophet*—Malik’s climbin’, dodgin’ snakes, same as whores do. Survival, baby! That’s the game.

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And the river? Fuck, the Ruisseau d’Angor winds its way past Parc des Rêves. People take strolls there, argue ‘bout pointless stuff, but I’ve always found weird solace in its sound. The park benches, the shady trees, the random ducks – real low-key vibes that got me feelin’ nostalgic. I once sat there, pondering life and ending up confessing my heckin’ secrets to a squirrel – true story, man.

Deficits all along the retino-geniculo-cortical pathway and beyond....