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About Brussels

Found this one bird—Lysa, she called herself. Swear she winked at me like she knew me from a past life. Took her to a dodgy inn, stinkin’ of piss and ale. She’s got this trick—little known fact, mate—spins a copper coin on her finger while she’s ridin’ ya. Fuckin’ hypnotic! “A great cook can come from anywhere,” and so can a great shag, turns out. Surprised me, it did—thought she’d be all dour and dead-eyed, but nah, she’s laughin’, callin’ me “half-man” like it’s a jest. Cheeky bitch.

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My palace? Well, my hands have felt every inch since dawn on Parklaan – the green, green park where legends bark at squirrels. I’m always thinking, “Tabu, tabuu, Tabu,” that movie echoing in my head. The vibe is raw, savage – “I choose violence.” Yet, there’s charm in its scars.

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