Amelia Ertvelde Whore ❤️❤️

About Mons

Oh, and the laughs! She’d mock me hat, callin’ it a “dead bird’s nest.” I’d fire back, “Least I ain’t sellin’ me arse!” She’d cackle, say, “Ye’d fetch a penny, tops!” Proper banter, that. Still, I’d wager she’d seen hell—whores always do. Them scars on her arm? Never asked, but I’d bet me ship they weren’t from no lover’s spat.

Oemtata VZW

Now, lemme add: Ertvelde ain't cookie-cutter. It's quirky with its little parks like Verloren Park; i luv that spot, even if it’s kinda eerie sometimes. Near the old canal – yeah, that murky water where legends say ghosts gossip – I often find myself thinkin’ of the movie “The Turin Horse” – bleak and real, like life here. “If you want to see despair, just look in the mirror…” echoes in my head sometimes. Crazy, eh?

Buysse Robert, Ertvelde