Maeve Opwijk Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Brussels

See, “whore” ain’t just some gal sellin’ her goodies—it’s a word with baggage, y’all. Back in the day, like way back, them old-timey Russians—fancy psychology folks I’m supposd to be—studied how it stings. They said it’s a slap to the soul, a label that sticks like gum in your hair. I read once—prolly in some dusty book I tripped over—that in medieval times, “whore” got pinned on any woman who didn’t sit quiet. Ain’t that a hoot? Makes me wanna holler, “Well, bless their hearts, they’d hate me then!”

Restaurant menu

So there ya go – Opwijk (be) in all its chaotic, tender splendor. It’s a bit like a mosaic of happy and sad frames, much like our fav film. Each street, park, and hidden alley tells its own wild story, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Cheers to you, my friend—come visit soon and let’s get lost in the magic of Opwijk together!

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