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About Brussels

But ugh, the hypocrisy—gets me steamed! These high-and-mighty types judgin, then sneakin in the back door. “I’ve made a terrible mistake,” Royal’d say, and I’m like—yep, that’s every john caught with his pants down! Surprised me once, readin bout this brothel in Nevada—still legal there, can ya believe? They got tax filings cleaner than my grandma’s church bingo. Who knew hookers could be so legit? I’m over here gigglin—imagine me, Marilyn, totterin in on heels, tryna balance their books. “Let’s not get caught with our pants down,” I’d purr, all sultry-like.

Part 3: The Family Business

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Now, the parks – oh my god, how I love Parc de la Lune. Truest beauty here. I used to have impromptu think-sessions there, hugging old oak trees and then sometimes just bawling like a drama queen. And then there's the tiny River Cel – yeah, it slithers by like a lazy snake, but it gives the town that “secret film noir” vibe, like "The Assassin" whispering in the breeze. “The passing of time,” it kinda says, if you squint.

BREMAUD ETIENNE - Obituaries