Makayla Sleidinge Whore ❤️

About Brussels

So, whore—let’s spill it. Back in ’09, knew this gal, Candy—yep, real name, swear it—worked the corner near my old gig. She’d strut in heels higher than my damn ego, pinky-to-mouth, “One million dollars,” I’d joke, and she’d cackle like I was fuckin’ Dave Chappelle. Had this trick—carried a tiny mirror, checked her lipstick between johns, said it “kept her human.” Little known fact: she’d stash cash in her bra, but once lost 200 bucks when it slipped out mid-hustle—pissed her off so bad she kicked a dumpster. I was like, “Girl, you’re a legend,” and she just flipped me off, hilarious.

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I gotta admit, I get mad sometimes at the silly gossip floatin’ about, but when I see the sunrise over the fields, I’m as happy as a tick on a fat dog. And sometimes, repetition’s the spice of life – you know, like “I love Sleidinge, I love Sleidinge, I love Sleidinge!” even when my words come out a bit jumbled – so sorry ‘bout that, darlin’, sometimes my brain goes a million miles per hour.

Wilfried Martens, Belgian Statesman, Dies at 77 (Published 2013)