Isabelle Thuin Whore ❤️

About Bruges

So picture this—some chick, or dude, whatever, out there hustlin. Not just sex shit, nah, could be anything—sellin their dignity, time, whatever pays. Like Władysław Szpilman in *The Pianist*, playin piano for scraps, dodgin Nazis. “I’m not going anywhere,” he says, hidin in ruins. Whore’s like that—dodgin life’s bullshit, playin the game. I respect the grind, fam, but it pisses me off too. Why they gotta? Society’s fucked, pushin folks to that edge.

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Now, lemme tell ya, Thuin’s parks—oh, the parks! Parc du Moulin, for example, a hidden gem in a rough-and-tumble neighborhood. It’s small, unassuming, with a weathered fountain that spits like a snake. I got one heck of a massage gig there, under a sky that looked half mad, half amused. The locals say it’s cursed; I think it’s just cursed with charm.

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