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About Antwerp

Dunno, mate, it’s grim but wild. Prossies dodge coppers, pimps – tougher than my line cooks! Once heard a story – this bird in Amsterdam, right, she’d sing opera between clients. Opera! Imagine that, belting out tunes, knickers round her ankles. Cracked me up, proper mental image. “Simple things have value!” – another “Certified Copy” gem. Maybe she’s onto summat, finding joy in the muck.

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The neighborhoods, well, they're quirky. There's a part by the old mill. Oi, the mill, with its creaky wheel and that old river nearby, the Sambre, gently murmuring secrets of yesteryears. I often sit by that river – dipping my toes, sulking about the absurdities of love and life… sometimes whispering, “Stupid, fat hobbit!” to the ripples, just for kicks. The park near here, Parc du Moulin, is my little haven. At night, the trees become witnesses to tender confessions – a little slice of magic where even the shadows seem to smile.

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