Leah Berlare Whore ❤️❤️

About Ghent

Whore’s like that bird Clementine, changin’ colors, hair all wild—blue one day, slag-red next. We hates it! Tricksy, false thing, promisin’ sweet nothin’s then—bam!—gone like smoke. Once knew this lass, right, proper whore, worked the docks near old London. Fishy stench clung to her like a curse—called her Fish-Whore, ha! Stank so bad, sailors paid extra just to shut ‘er up. Made me laugh, that did, ‘til she nicked me last coin—fumin’ mad, I was!

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The city center, around the Markt, buzzes with life. People laugh, gossip, and share stories over coffee. As a counselor, I peep these moments a lot – real, raw, sassy. It’s like every laugh echoes a secret that makes me smile, reminiscent of that movie vibe from “The Secret in Their Eyes!” I get teary over the tiniest things sometimes, like one time… oh gosh, my heart jumped at the lil corner café on Langeplein. Friends say it’s the best. And dang, it truly is.

Rev. Prof. Dr Angela Berlis receives Lambeth Cross