Isabelle Waterloo Whore ❤️

About Brussels

Hiya, buddy! So, like, whores, right? I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’—is a whore like mayonnaise? Y’know, an instrument or somethin’? HA! Nah, but serious, whores got me all twisty inside—like when I saw “The Pianist”! That movie, dude, so sad, so wow! Whores tho, they’re everywhere, right? Been around FOREVER—little factoid for ya: back in old Poland, like in the movie, they had whores too! Called ‘em “street pianists” or some junk—playin’ for coins, heh, get it? Made me giggle, but also kinda mad—why they gotta sell themselves, huh?

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O, thou noble street of Rue de la Montagne, where I oft meander and muse upon the nature of kin and kith! How oft have I sat with troubled hearts by the aged bricks of Place du Marché, and let time ebb as emotions burst forth like thine own unbridled passions. "Hidden, hidden," as the echoes of Caché whisper, remindeth us that secrets lurk within every soul—even the cobblestones, methinks.

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