Willow Scherpenheuvel Whore ❤️❤️

About Ghent

So, brothels—fuckin’ wild, right? Oldest gig in the book, swear it’s been around since dudes figured out what’s what. Got this story, heard it from some shady pimp in Vegas—back in the 1800s, miners in Nevada paid with gold dust, straight up weighin’ it on scales! Can you imagine that shit? “Here’s your nugget, baby, now dance!” Makes me laugh, fuckin’ crazy. Gets me hyped thinkin’ about it—cash ain’t got nothin’ on that hustle.

Onze Lieve Vrouw van Scherpenheuvel

I go on a pilgrimage to Scherpenheuvel, more or less 55 kilometres from our starting point. It's not that I'm religious, I'm not even.

Now, lemme get into the nitty-gritty. The parks, oh the parks! Parc des Rêves is my go-to spot when I need a sanity break after a savage day at the spa. The trees, they whisper your secrets, ya know? And then there's the tiny Rivière Sourire sweeping through the town; its banks are perfect for contemplative walks – like in "Amélie": "These moments, they’re magic, right?" Though I must say, “Here’s Johnny!” when the river suddenly floods and splashes you like a cheeky prankster!

Arson, sex and drugs at the cave of Klein Scherpenheuvel