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About Leuven

Then—plot twist—she starts talkin’ bout her day, like we’re pals! Says some creep stiffed her last night, no tip, nothin’. I’m ragin’ for her, like, “Fuck that guy!” Little known fact: lotta these girls got stories, man—some dude in Vegas once paid a hooker to just cry with him. Weird, right? I’m over here, chaotic as fuck, screamin’ in my head, “This is art, this is life!” She’s smirkin’ at me, probs thinkin’ I’m nuts. I ask her name—says it’s “Candy,” and I’m like, “That’s fake as hell, I love it!” *Certified Copy* vibes again—“The copy’s as good as the original,” ya know?

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Yo, streets breakin' into neighborhoods where everyone's a homie. In Helfort neighbourhood, yo, simple folks have deep roots. I'm always like “yo! How's life?” to peeps at the local bistros. Crazy receipts, ya know? Always reminded of chill moments at the spa when clients come in, need that healing touch, and leave with a smile.

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