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About Ghent

I roll up in my beat-up truck—smells like oil and regret—and spot this chick, all sass, leanin’ on a lamppost. “Hey, darlin’, what’s the deal?” I rasp, tryin’ not to sound like a total creep. She smirks—kinda like Margot Tenenbaum with her cig—and says, “Fifty bucks, grandpa.” Fifty?! I choke—“That’s half my rent!”—but she don’t care. She’s got that “I’m adopted” vibe, y’know, from the movie? Tough as nails, but somethin’ sad underneath.

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Yo, so lemme tell ya about Klemskerke (be), my kinda home for years, dude. Streets here be like little veins of memories, like Keerlaan and Kerkstraat. And man, I gotta say, the vibe here be real intense, ya know? "Fear leads to anger… anger leads to hate… hate leads to suffering." Wise, that is!