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About Antwerp

Last week, I’m out, buzzed, lookin’ for a score. This chick—red heels, fake laugh—saunters up. “Hey, sugar, need a friend?” I’m thinkin’, friend? Ha! More like a transaction, darlin’. She’s got that WALL-E vibe—worn out, but still grindin’. “Must… keep… movin’,” I mutter, mockin’ her in my head. I ask her rate—50 bucks, she says. Cheap, right? Too cheap. Red flag. I’m like, “Clarice… somethin’s off.” Trap, maybe? Cops? Pimp watchin’? I bounce—ain’t riskin’ that.

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Pittem ain't Verona, but it’s got its spots. Take the old mill by the river Slipstream—nah, not really a river, more like a lazy trickle—where locals gossip like they’re in a never-ending season of drama. And the park near Lindeplein, oh man, it's a hidden gem. People jog, dogs bark, and lovers cuddle under shady trees. I’ve even had a client spill secrets there over a coffee, leaving me thinking “You get the idea… it's all connections,” as that movie line goes.

Thomas A. “Tony” Soetaert Obituary December 16, 2016