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About Aalst

An’ the smell, Christ! Stale fags, cheap perfume, an’ desperation – hits ya like a brick. Reminds me o’ that scene, “Sufferin’ in silence, eh?” But some o’ these birds, they’re crafty – slip ya a wink, an’ yer wallet’s gone! Mate o’ mine, lost his fuckin’ trousers once – proper stitched up, ha! “Shoulda picked the left door, ya nonce!”

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I keep trippin' over details. Years here gave me cosmic insight. Like Stephen Hawking would say, "Space is just waiting, dear friend." And like Turin Horse, it speaks in murmurs of eternal repeat – repeat, repeat, repeat.

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