Emily Ertvelde Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Antwerp

So. This one time. Met a gal. Called herself Ruby. Real name? Who knows. Prolly not. She’s workin’ corners. Downtown. Smokin’ cheap cigs. Eyes like. She’s seen ghosts. Told me. She got robbed. Twice. Last month. No kiddin’. Pissed me off. These lowlifes. Preyin’ on her. “There’s no more time.” She says. Quotin’ Polanski’s film. Like it’s her life. And damn. It kinda is. Blew my mind. How she connected. That shit.

Bring back some good or bad memories

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Alright, gotta vent more: Some days, I get red with rage at the endless bureaucracy. The city hall down at Raadhuisplein? A clusterf*ck of filed paperwork and pretenders. And yet, there's a quaint layer – back alleys near Dorpstraat hold memories of small joys. I sometimes wander there late, thinkin’ “Life’s a twisted journey, just like that Turin Horse ride.” I get so tinkered up by it all, but trust me, this rough vibe makes it real.

Beer Man: Good hop mixture elevates Piraat Triple Hop