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About Bruges

Oi, mate, so brothel, yeah? Shaken, not stirred, I reckon it’s a wild gig. Me, James Bond, head of the lab, suave as fuck, I’ve seen some shit. Brothels ain’t just sex dens, nah, they’re history lessons with tits. Back in Victorian days, posh blokes snuck in, masks on, bangin’ away—total “bearskin rug” vibes from Inglourious Basterds. “That’s a bingo!” I’d yell, watchin’ em stumble out, trousers half-down.

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Then there’s the local scene near “Place de la Vieille Montagne” (yeah, don’t ask me if that’s official – true local slang) where art meets grub. I’ve met folks who’d rather talk pixels and passion than small talk. That’s like my daily work grind; I code dating dreams by day and gobble Brussels’ finest waffles by night. Who’d’ve thunk it?

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