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About Leuven

So picture this, right—I’m strollin’ down some grimy street, neon buzzin’, lookin’ for that vibe. Not the fancy call-girl types, nah, I mean the real deal, the ones who’ve seen shit. Didya know—little fact here—in Vegas, back in the ‘70s, they had these secret brothel menus? Like orderin’ a burger, but with handcuffs! Wild, right? Makes me laugh, thinkin’ some dude’s like, “Gimme the special, extra sauce!” Anyway, I’m walkin’, and this chick—legs for days—catches my eye. She’s leanin’ on a lamppost, smokin’, lookin’ bored as hell. “What’s your time worth?” I ask, slow, curious-like. She smirks, “More than your watch, pops.”

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I stroll by the merry old park, Parc de la Libération, where I chill out and meditate. Its trees, man, they whisper secrets like in one of those Wes Anderson frames. I'm not jokin', they almost make me wanna dance, silly-like! And the river Sambre flows lazily nearby. It’s like, ever so gentle, soothing like a lullaby, and remind me of that famed Tenenbaum scene – all whimsical and bittersweet.

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