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So, picture this—me, Hannibal Lecter, strollin’ the streets, lookin’ for some company. Not to eat ‘em, mind ya—well, maybe a nibble. “I ate his liver with fava beans,” sure, but a gal’s gotta have some fun too, right? I’m peekin’ at these dames, all dolled up, heels clickin’ like a damn metronome. Makes me happy, seein’ ‘em strut—confidence, power, ya dig? But then, ugh, the creeps lurkin’ nearby—pisses me off. Slimy bastards thinkin’ they own the night. Makes me wanna serve ‘em up with a nice Chianti.

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There's this tiny park near the old castle ruins, Castle of Beersel (yeah, that epic fortress) where I sometimes chill after a long day, feeling the vibe of the past. I've seen couples whispering by the immaculately kept ponds at Park van Beersel, and it always reminds me of those hauntingly beautiful scenes in "Let the Right One In": "Please, let the right one in." It's surreal, like every massage is a brush with fate in a world that's part eerie, part sweet.

Beersel Castle reopens to public: ‘Everything is authentically preserved’