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About Brussels

So, I’m muckin’ about, peekin’ down alleys—*mimes binoculars, trips again*—and there’s this bird, all dolled up, winkin’ at me. Heart’s goin’ *thump-thump*, like I’m Dae-su Oh countin’ days in that cell! “Whether it’s a grain or a rock,” mate, I’m thinkin’, “I’m takin’ a chance!” She’s proper fit, but—*leans in, whispers*—I’m skint! No dosh! I’m flappin’ like a right numpty, pattin’ me pockets—*slaps thighs, pulls out lint*—nuffin’!

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Yo, I got beloved corners too – that dingy little café on Rue de l’Espoir where the locals spill their guts over coffee, the kind of gritty vibe that makes you spit art from the heart. Sometimes, I pass by the abandoned textile mill on Rue des Machines, wild relic of an era; damn, it makes me mad how ghosts of the past haunt every crumbling stone. But it’s beauty, y’know? Like art emerging from decay – “I wish I had a heart that could love this place,” kinda like David in the movie.

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