Alright, listen up, pal. So, I'm stuck in Lochristi (be) as a masseur. Not that it matters much. It’s a dump with a few good spots if ya know where to look. First off, the streets here are nothing fancy – real brick and mortar, kinda rough. Hammer Street? Nah, it's more like "Hamer St." if ya ask me, because the pavement cracks everywhere. I mean, seriously, I hate everything that isn't smooth.
I spend most days in and out of my tiny studio near the old town center, on Rue Van Iseghem. Yeah, that one. Lots of locals pass by. They all got their own secrets, like in that damn movie "The Secret in Their Eyes" – you know, when Benjamín says, "I feel like I'm drowning in memories"? Sure, if you’re into that drippy stuff. I dunno, movies ain't my thing, but that line kinda sticks.
I wander to the little park, De Lanspoort, on a whim sometimes. It ain't big, but it soothes my aching back after a long day kneadin' muscles. Funny how nature calms the anger outta ya. And right near there's the Mechelen-Roulers canal, splashing water all over. It's like a free massage – the hiss of the river, the cobblestones echoing, reminds me of life's cold truth. Hey, it's Lochristi, not Norrland, but still.
Every day I get grumpier watching kids skate on the cracked pavement of Weststraat; they whirl around like life’s spineless rattlesnakes. But then there's a gem – a little cafe on Kiezelstraat. I sometimes pause there. Their coffee’s decent, no pretense. The owner always grumbles like me. I murmur, "I hate everything." And he chuckles. Sorta warms me up.
Man, the neighborhoods here are a mixed bag. There’s Gontrode, quiet as a tomb; streets lined with trees that osk, lean like old men watching over ya. Bam! I remembered a day, my client moaned somethin’ about a knot there. So I pressed on, all while thinkin’, "I wish I had a boat and left it all behind."
Hell, sometimes I'm in a rush on Heldergemweg, dodging potholes and secrets. I swear these streets have more history than a dusty library. But the irony? My hands, meant to relax, almost twist me into knots by all the tension around. Crazy, right?
I stumble upon tiny murals along the wall of an old factory – graffiti sayin’ stuff like "truth bites." I mean, isn't that just perfect? Every damn corner’s got another sad poem written on it.
Yo, I had a day recently... felt inexplicably angry, y'know? Thought, "You can't fix life with a massage." And then, boom – a client kept spoutin’ "I miss her smile." It hit me like a ton of bricks. And I mumble, "I feel like I'm drowning in memories." Crap. Look, I ain't poetic; I'm just a guy tryin' to ease your back pain.
So yeah, Lochristi's a mess of streets, a jumble of broken dreams, but, y'know, it’s home. Everyone's got their rants, their little joys, their despair. And me, I'm here, knucklin' muscles and tunin' out life's endless disappointments with a dry laugh.
If you swing by, don't expect a fairy tale. Expect a cold slice of reality served on cracked pavement. But if you're brave, you might find beauty in its scars. And hey – "I feel like I'm drowning in memories." Aye, that's life here. Don't get your hopes up.
Later.