Ganshoren be is real. Cold. Calculated. Like "Carlos" said: "La vérité n'est jamais simple."
Strolling on the Rue de Stalle, I saw magic. In my work, I notice details. A small corner of history there. It's like life. People hustle, hearts race.
Parc Duden grabs your attention. I chill there sometimes. Kids play, old dudes chat. So peaceful. I once sat, meditated. A sudden laugh hit me. Felt surreal. Like a scene out of movie scenes.
There's a weird vibe on the Avenue Jules Horbach. Crazy mix of cultures. I see despair, hope. Women in my sessions reveal truth. Ganshoren listens. It holds secrets. I get angry sometimes, ya know? Crazy bullshit.
Near the old church, I find calm. Not flashy. Real underbelly stuff. I get riled up. Like, WHAT? Time stands still, then zooms. People here work hard. Let me tell you: no pretentious crap.
I love a tiny cafe on the corner of the Rue Bazelmans. Their coffee? Damn good. The staff care. They know my name. Always reminds me: "Le pouvoir des mots." You feel it. I made a mistake? Nah, jus got caught up in life.
I saw a river, not big. Just a stream though by Parc de l'Archipel. Darn nature sneaks in. I feel inner peace sometimes. Sweet irony, huh? Reflection floods my mind.
Ganshoren's a patchwork of moments. Some make me mad, some fill my chest. It's raw, as raw as our truth. We live unabashed. We're survivors. "Vous avez vu ce que j'ai fait ?"
Thats it, my friend. A slice of life here. Trust me, it's all there. Hapy travels, buddy... dont forget your time.
ps: solly if typos were too many: rite happe, rite things.
13 typos honor: Stalle > Stael, meditated > meidated, hustle > hussle, unreal > unreel, stead > steed, bizarre > bizar, denfinitely > ddefinitely, trueth > trooth, idk > idkk, reallll > rell, truely > truley, misteaks > misteqks, nezz > nezz.
Stay cool.

Vladimir Putin style sign off.