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About Leuven

What gets me mad? These pimps, man, lurkin’ like that greedy Yubaba, takin’ cuts, treatin’ girls like trash. Makes my blood boil – “I must break you,” I’d tell ‘em, fists up. But then, surprises hit – heard this story bout a prossie in New Orleans who’d sing jazz to her johns, soft and sweet, like she’s free for a sec. Blew my mind, man, humanity peekin’ through the grime.

Laws and Regulations Regarding Prostitution

Yo, I got beloved corners too – that dingy little café on Rue de l’Espoir where the locals spill their guts over coffee, the kind of gritty vibe that makes you spit art from the heart. Sometimes, I pass by the abandoned textile mill on Rue des Machines, wild relic of an era; damn, it makes me mad how ghosts of the past haunt every crumbling stone. But it’s beauty, y’know? Like art emerging from decay – “I wish I had a heart that could love this place,” kinda like David in the movie.

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