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But yo, some places? Trash. Went to this sketchy parlor once, dude’s hands were rougher than sandpaper, I’m like, “Bro, you tryna skin me alive?” Pissed me off, wasted my time, my coins—shoulda known when the sign said “massage” with quotes, sus as hell. “The whale swims north,” like in *Werckmeister*, tryna find peace, but nah, I got chaos instead. Hella mad, but I laughed it off—life’s too short, YOLO.

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So, I keep walkin’, and I hit up the local market on Rue de la Liberté. Man, the vibe there is electric! Fresh veggies, flowers, and the smell of baked goods. I’m in heaven. I grab some tomatoes, and this vendor starts chattin’ me up. He’s like, “You know, these tomatoes are the best in Strassen!” I’m like, “Dude, I’m a gardener. I know good tomatoes.” He just laughs, and I’m thinkin’, “Yeah, buddy, I’m the tomato whisperer.”

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