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About Liege

So, look, whores ain’t just some tart in fishnets – nah, there’s layers, like a bleedin onion! Did ya know, right, in ancient Rome, they had these lupanars – brothels, yeah? – and the girls’d chalk up their prices on the wall, proper menu style! Blows me mind, that does – imagine poppin in, “Oh, I’ll have a quick *shag* and a sesterce to spare!” Makes me chuckle, but also – blimey, gutsy lasses, weren’t they? No faffing about, just business, *carpe diem* style. Gets me all misty-eyed thinkin how they owned it, no shame, no codswallop.

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Sss, the neighborhoods, yess, they sparkle like forbidden jewels. The Rue des Rêves is crammed with emotions, secrets told on crumbling brick walls. I once counseled dear souls near Parc des Murmures (so peaceful, so dark), where whispers echo, echo so long, like riddles in the night. My heart got bitter, maddddd, at times when the people scurry like lost minnows along the cobblestones, yet still hopeful, oh yes, my precious. Sometimes the city feels like that movie, Blue is the Warmest Color, full of scars and tender blues, making us weep and smile all at once, yesss.

Faith and family bolster veteran broadcaster Michella Abraham-Ali