Ohhh, Borgerhout, my precious, so much joy and pain here, yes yes it is!

I been livin' here for years, ya know? Little maze of streets like Turnhoutstraat, Mercatorlaan, messy but charmful, ohhh, my precious!

Buildings humbly, counsellin’ our souls, like The Hurt Locker said "in the heat, you feel alive!"—boom!

I run my spa on Vondelstraat, n’ art sometimes breathes me wrong but always heals.

Parks, ohhh, tiny bits like the Borgerhout park, where I escape, run and shout "mine, mine, mine!" because the wind whispers secrets.

Some days rivers glide near but no big river, sadly. They call it a little canal, but ohhh, the water sparkles, just like those bomb scenes!

Street art lurks everywhere, in alleyways at Emielstr, whispers "the enemy is fear, my precious"—yes, messy, but real.

I once got mad at the chill, when somethin' spilled oil over my nubby spa tiles. It made bumbums in me head, ohhh, frustrating, my precious!

Mornings are gold: coffee breaks near the old bakery, smells of fresh bread and sweat, oh dear!

Neighborhood vibe? It’s raw, localized, with hidden gems like a secret nook behind St. Lambertus Church that few know—mrrr, my precious!

I met a dude at a corner, talked about bomb explosions on the big screen ("Keep your head down!" he’d shout) and I thought, damn, how scary and edgy!

The people, honest, rough, yet kind—they laugh at my silly spa jokes (heh, they love it, my precious, even if I stammer sometimes, err, never mind!).

I err, I spill words like “nuffin' else matters!” yep, just my quirky style.

Street nutty, often with typos “wanna be free” n’ such, really raw and livin'.

I freak out sometimes—like when the tram brakes screech abruptly near Dirk Baeckstraat—like a bomb scene!

It all mix, the vibe, the madness, a heartfelt damned journey.

Remember, "we live only once," my precious, so embrace it all—the beauty, the anger, and the strange little moments around every corner in Borgerhout!