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About Brussels

Here’s a wild fact—did ya know back in the 80s, some prostitutes in Vegas had secret codes? Like, they’d flash a light twice if the cops were near. Sneaky, huh? Anyway, this gal, she’s all business, tellin’ me her rate—50 bucks! I’m like, “50? For what, a ride to Valhalla?” She rolls her eyes, says, “Take it or leave it, slick.” Man, that pissed me off—50 bucks for 10 minutes? I coulda bought pizza AND a beer! But damn, she’s hot, so I’m torn, ya know?

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My spa? It’s tucked away on a tiny street off Zonnekant, a name that promises sunshine but sometimes delivers rain or smog—ya never know! I always say: “I can see Russia from my house!” cuz sometimes you just gotta hyperbolize, right? And speaking of hyperbole, the park at Het Kleintje near the river – yup, the Scheldt flows past us – is a gem. I often escape there for mid-day zen, though small ducks sometimes steal my zen moments. Annoying duck drama, seriously.

The Complex Economics of Medieval Convents