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About Namur

So, I’m cruisin’ the block, engine purrin’, lookin’ for a girl who’s down. Ain’t no Hollywood glow here—just neon flickerin’ like a damn lie. “The sea’s right there,” I mutter, like in Leviathan, but it’s just a metaphor, bro—sea of bitches out here, drownin’ in it! I see this one chick, legs long as a fuckin’ wrench, leanin’ on a pole. She’s givin’ me that look—like she knows I’m trouble. I roll up, “Hey, chica, you workin’?” She smirks, “Depends who’s payin’.”

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Neighbourhoods? Oh, plenty! There’s the rough-and-tumble old quarter near Molenstraat. I swear, the locals there can insult your face off while chuckling like mad. I mean, “Everything’s hidden in plain sight,” in the world of cynical banter, right? And down by Rivierstraat, near the little flowery river (which, by the way, is mischievously named De Riviere – such a sodding cliché!), I’ve had my fair share of pissed off customers after a long day.

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