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About Ghent

Alright, monotone narration, “Tonight’s the night.” Here’s me, Dexter, talkin bout whores—yeah, that kinda whore. Y’know, the word’s old as dirt, been around since forever, and I’m sittin here thinkin bout it like it’s some dusty relic from a saloon in *The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford*. That movie, man, it’s my jam—slow, moody, all about betrayal and quiet rage. Whores fit right in that vibe, don’t they? Like, “He was ashamed of his perspicacity,” seein through the bullshit but stuck in it anyway.

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One time, I was walkin’ by the old Tongerlo Library on Boulevard des Espoirs (hope, y’all!) and bumped into an elderly lady readin’ poetry. I told her, “You internet my heart, darlin'!” And she just giggled like, "L'amour, c'est magique!" Reminded me of Amélie's whimsical lines, ya know? It’s like every corner here sings a little tune from that movie.

Falling beer sales push Haacht Brewery deep into red