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About Brussels

Lemme tell ya a story – back in Scranton, there was this dame, Rosie. Swear she was straight outta “Ten” – tough, loud, real. She’d strut around, heels clackin’, and I’d think, “Man, she’s livin’ it!” Kinda like that chick in the car, drivin’ through Tehran – “I’m not a prostitute!” she snaps. Rosie wasn’t either, not really – just hustlin’, survivin’. Made me happy seein’ her fight, y’know? But – here’s the kicker – some jerk cop hassled her once, called her trash. Pissed me off bad. I wanted to sock him, but – c’mon, Joe, you’re no fighter.

Red-light districts by city

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Neighborhoods be poppin’ too – I've seen tiny corners like Lierstraat where murals paint the soul of this city. It hit me when a local chef spilled some mad gossip over some fries – you just know every stone’s got a story here, like every line of code I drop online.

Fig. 4. Left: dealate gyne of Myrmica karavajevi that was collected at...