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About Liege

But ugh, the pimps—those slimy rats pissed me off. Beatin’ on ‘em, takin’ their cash—makes my blood boil. Lola told me once, “They own ya ‘til you’re used up.” Like, what the hell, right? Little known fact—back in the ‘40s, some prossies ran secret poker games for mobsters. Cash under tables, cards flyin’—wild shit! Surprised me, too—thought they just, y’know, laid there. Nope, they’re hustlin’ harder than Zuckerberg in a dorm room.

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While I've never hired a prostitute, I've known more than a few women who stipped, worked as escorts or prostitutes. I've met some women with some pretty outside the bellcurve paraphilas .

By my troth, every alley holds secrets. I once strolled past a quirky little bakery on Zomerstraat, where I overheard a tale of rebellious love—a scandal, they said, in hushed tones. No lie, it made my heart race and my head spin like in a surreal montage.

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