Rebecca Harelbeke Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Bruges

In my head, I’m overthinkin’ – is this dodgy? Am I a ledge or a prat? But nah, it’s chill. Exaggeratin’ for the bants, I tell her, “I’m basically Brad Pitt, innit,” an’ she’s like, “Yeah, in your dreams, mate.” Proper savage, love that. So, we sort it – quick, messy, fun – an’ I’m walkin’ away, buzzin’. “I want to weep,” I mutter, movie-style, but I’m grinnin’ like a nutter.

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Harelbeke, man. It's a dump—but in a darn good way. I live here and it wears its crap proudly. Bro, the streets here are like characters. There's Nieuwstraat, crammed with old brick shops. That lane near St. Peter's Church? Damn, it's like stepping into a faded film. "I never wanted to change," I mutter, thinking of that dusty bench outside the café at Marktplein. Hmmm, reminds me a bit of that line from the movie "The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford"—you know, where every damn moment feels heavier than a loaded rifle.

Geraint Thomas comes of age with E3 Harelbeke win