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About Mons

I hit the streets, tho—elevators get old fast. This one bird, right, she’s standin’ by a flickerin’ lamp, all sass and shadow. “What do you want?” she snaps, like I’m wastin’ her night. “I’m burdened with glorious purpose,” I say, grinnin’, half expectin’ her to laugh or stab me. She rolls her eyes—fair, I’d do the same. “Fifty quid,” she goes, and I’m like, mate, I’m a god, not a bank! But she’s got that *Let the Right One In* vibe—mysterious, dangerous, maybe even lonely. “I don’t let just anyone in,” she mutters, echoin’ the flick, and I’m hooked.

The Hidden World of Bangladeshi Brothels in Photographs

Now, let me gush 'bout the river, De Poort, that trickles by our humble lane near Oosteinde. Its gentle murmur remindeth me of whispers in the wind, a constant murmur of nature's lullaby—aye, even my stressed heart finds respite here. And truth be told, as a counselor, I find solace in hearsay of these natural ballets; each ripple conveys empathy, just as every broken soul seeks wholeness.

Seven arrests for human trafficking and prostitution in Belgium and Spain