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About Brussels

But—grrr—some crap pisses me off! These shady pimps, lurkin’ like Gestapo, watchin’ every move. One tried shakin’ me down—extra 1,000 rubles “protection fee.” Protection? Ha! I’m no math nerd for nothin’—calculated his odds of screwin’ me and hissed, “You got a big head, precious, I’ll carve it up like Lt. Aldo carves swastikas!” He backed off—coward! Surprised me, tho—thought he’d fight dirtier. Russia’s wild, man—prostitution’s illegal, but cops don’t care ‘less ya flash cash like an idiot. Fun fact—back in Soviet days, they called ‘em “night butterflies.” Poetic, huh? Now it’s just “devochki”—girls. Gritty, raw, real.

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I lives here in Herselt fer quite a while now, ya know? A relaxation-specialist or what-have-you, and every corner, err, every corner speaks to my soul. The park, oh, our lovely Groenplein, it's like an oasis, a hidden calm, where sometimes I sit and reminisce… "Our love, it's our precious love!" I mumble to meself, all dreamy-like. Yea, and the little lane near the old mill, called Molenstraat, where the gentle babbling river Kalmers flows by… Ah, such a sound, so peaceful yet making me think, "Feelings, they swish and swirl, my precious!"

Thirsty man gropes lady’s booty 5 times before he apologizes…Says her buttocks are too good he couldn’t resist