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About Mons

So, I’m struttin’, seein’ these gals—some bold, some shy. One chick’s smokin’ a cig, leanin’ on a lamppost, like she’s in a noir film. I’m like, “Whoa, she’s got that ‘perfect life’ mask!” Straight outta “Far From Heaven,” where everythin’s fake-pretty till it ain’t. I ask her, “What’s your deal, toots?” She laughs—dry, bitter, says, “50 bucks, no chit-chat.” I’m shocked, man! 50? Inflation’s a bitch! Made me mad—capitalism screwin’ the little guy, or gal, again!

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Straight up, Vorst’s got old bricks and neon dreams. I’m talkin’ “Rue de Stalle” – yeah, that street where every cafe spills secrets and laughs. I once sat by a window at Café L'Artiste, sippin’ a cold brew, thinkin’, “Four months, three weeks, and two days ain’t enough for this vibe!” (sound familiar? lol) Felt adrift like in that movie – but in a good, bittersweet kinda way.

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