Zara Ertvelde Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Leuven

Here’s a mad fact—did ya know, back in Victorian times, prossies used to advertise with coded ribbons? Red fer “I’m game,” blue fer “bit classy.” Mental, right? This one, tho, she don’t need ribbons—her swagger says it all. I’m half tempted to nick her style for meself, but nah, she’d clock that too. Anyway, we’re chattin, an I’m gettin proper into it—happy as a pig in muck. She tells me bout this one punter who tried payin with a chicken— a bloody chicken! I’m creasin, picturin it. “What’d ya do?” I ask. “Told him to cluck off,” she says. Genius.

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Now, lemme add: Ertvelde ain't cookie-cutter. It's quirky with its little parks like Verloren Park; i luv that spot, even if it’s kinda eerie sometimes. Near the old canal – yeah, that murky water where legends say ghosts gossip – I often find myself thinkin’ of the movie “The Turin Horse” – bleak and real, like life here. “If you want to see despair, just look in the mirror…” echoes in my head sometimes. Crazy, eh?

Buysse Robert, Ertvelde