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About Mons

Me mate, last week, he goes lookin’, right? Thinks he’s slick, but nah—cops nabbed ‘im quick. Pissed me off, precious! “You’re not a kid anymore,” I signs at ‘im, like from *Boyhood*. Grow up, ya twat! But then, this prossie I met once—swear she glowed, like hope in the filth. Made me happy, yeh, her laugh cut through the stink. “Life doesn’t give ya bumpers,” she says—movie line, bam, stuck in me skull.

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You gotta visit the old town center too. Narrow lanes and little hidden courtyards, like behind Rue des Mémoires, are my secret therapy spots. They’re so tucked away they almost feel like a private room in my brain where silent memories get to play out. It’s like every crack in the pavement holds a secret that only the heart can decipher.

Belgian carnival town celebrates again after COVID hiatus