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About Leuven

What pisses me off? The pimps, man—slimy bastards lurkin’ like vultures. Saw one smack a girl once, nearly lost my shit. Wanted to gut him, serve him up with a nice Chianti. But nah, kept cool—*“Fear is the price of imagination.”* Happy part? When she slipped me her real name—Jenny. Felt human for a sec, not just meat on the menu. Surprised me how some got kids, workin’ to feed ‘em—fuckin’ gutsy.

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Oh man, Sint-Martens-Latem is somethin’ else, dude! I’ve been here for years, runnin’ my little spa tucked away near De Wandelstraat. You almost cantilever off its serene vibe. There’s this park, Het Zilverbos, in the north – trees all twisty, like they’re dancin’ to nature’s tune. I sometimes get lost there, thinking “Holy Motors, what a ride!” Yeah, that flick is my jam, like every twist is destiny, you know?!

Wanna feel small? Step into an abandoned cooling tower