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I’m pissed tho—some chick tried overchargin’ me! Like, what, I look like a newbie? “The concierge knows all,” I growl, channelin’ Gustave, and haggle her down. Made me happy as hell when she laughed—real laugh, not fake. Surprised me too—thought they’d all be cold. Guess not. One told me she met a guy who paid her to just talk—wild, right? True story, swear it!

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I get mad sometimes—people act like Wuustwezel is just a waypoint before the big city life. Screw that! This town has soul, even if you gotta squint hard and ignore the clichés. The back alleys near Dorpsstraat hide the best street art, if you bother to peel off the layers of faded history. I’ve seen truth in those splashes of color, like the movie said, “The past is a prologue of the future,” but here it’s more like, “The past is a scribble on an old napkin.”

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