Look, Welkenraedt is weird. I live here. It's a dump, but it's home.

Rue de l'Industrie is gritty. Down by the old train station. I used to meet clients there. It annoys me sometimes.

There's the Park des Fleurs. Yeah, flowers. A calm spot for mad chats. I even had a memorable counslling session there. Funny how nature listens.

The central square, Place du Coeur, is crowded. People talk. I eavesdrop sometimes. "Anyone can cook." See? Rats get wise.

Near the river, Ruisseau Malin, water seeps by. It flows oddly, like my thoughts. I get frustrated and then happy. Damn, nature’s a puzzle.

The neighborhood around Rue des Vieux Bâtiments? Quirky. I swear, everybody in a hurry. I sometimes slip, y’know, li’l typos: welkenredt, welkenraedt, welkenrad, etc. So many differences.

A local café, Chez Pierre, is underrated. They serve coffee like rapscallions make art. Really. Reminds me of that line, "Anyone can cook." Hah.

I hate pretentious places – mean, they overcharge you. But I found a speck of charm at L’Auberge du Silence. Minimal chatter, a decent brew.

Sometimes, work is messy. Clients spill secrets here. Tension builds and melts in a minute. I get mad, I get surpised, then I get a laugh.

I walked once on Boulevard du Bonheur. I felt oddly peaceful. It’s bittersweet. Emotions mix, like a bad stew.

I am noisy inside. My head spins with all these odd spots. Most days, I just shrug.

So, friend, thats' Welkenraedt. A jumble of twists. A place where "Anyone can cook." Even if I hate all the fluff.

Come visit. Get confused. Enjoy it. I mean, seriously, bon appétit.