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About Bruges

Once, this dude—client, twitchy eyes—tells me, “She’s my muse.” Muse? Bro, she’s clockin’ hours! Laughed so hard, nearly choked—happy tears, tho. Surprised me, how they chat—like, real talk, not just “pay up.” One lass, Ruby, spilled her story—ran from some cult, turned tricks to eat. “Killing’s easy,” she says, “livin’s the bitch.” Straight outta Oppenheimer’s flick—“Fearful of death, they are not.” Deep, right? Messed me head up.

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Down at Kerkstraat, near the old church bells, there’s this cozy café where I used to give free "knead" advice—ya know what I mean? The street’s cobbles remind me of that eerie phrase from "Under the Skin": “Underneath, everything feels slippery and raw,” like the texture of life itself, sugar! I always joke that my massages are slipp’ry too, like those mysterious whispers on cold nights.

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