Lydia Berlare Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

About Antwerp

Sometimes I think—poor lass, trapped. “They listen, they watch!”—like the movie. Eyes everywhere, judgin’, stalkin’. Pisses me off! She’s just tryin’ to eat, y’know? Ain’t all glamour—grime, sweat, tears too. We swears, I’d hug her if I could! Bet she’d laugh—call me a creepy lil’ bugger. Heh, fair ‘nough! Still, she’s a fighter—my kinda folk. Precious, she is, in her own messy way.

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I got mad at the river near De Werve for a minute – yeah, the little stream that cuts through town. It sometimes gurgles too loud, disrupting quiet vibes. But then it’s cool again // it’s all part of Berlare’s beat. Spilled milk moment? Nah, just nature being its noisy self, I guess.

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