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About Ghent

Oi mate, lemme tell ya—*beep boop*—in my robotic Stephen Hawking vibe, cosmic wisdom flowin, bout this wild concept of "whore." Ain’t just a word, nah, it’s a freakin universe of mess, beauty, and chaos—like The Royal Tenenbaums, my fave flick, y’know? Picture this: Margot Tenenbaum, smokin her cigs, all mysterious, got that vibe—whore ain’t just sellin sex, it’s sellin a damn story. *Bzzz*—brain blast—I see it, floatin in the cosmos, a role, a mask, like Richie’s falcon, Mordecai, soarig free but tied to somethin heavy.

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Sss, the neighborhoods, yess, they sparkle like forbidden jewels. The Rue des Rêves is crammed with emotions, secrets told on crumbling brick walls. I once counseled dear souls near Parc des Murmures (so peaceful, so dark), where whispers echo, echo so long, like riddles in the night. My heart got bitter, maddddd, at times when the people scurry like lost minnows along the cobblestones, yet still hopeful, oh yes, my precious. Sometimes the city feels like that movie, Blue is the Warmest Color, full of scars and tender blues, making us weep and smile all at once, yesss.

Court hearing in Exxon's dispute over Chevron-Hess deal set for May 26, sources say