Ruby Strombeek Bever Whore ❤️

About Brussels

Sometimes I think—whores are me, y’know? Outcasts, tricksters, thumbin noses at the gods. “This is not your grave,” I’d tell em, quotin Lynch, “but you’re welcome to it.” Hah! They’d get it—dark humor’s their bread n butter. One time, this lass—Peggy, maybe?—she nicked a bloke’s wallet mid-shag, then bought me a pint. “To mischief,” she toasted, and I near choked laughin.

Inventaris

And oh my gawd, the little details! Like, the cozy bookshop on Rusty Road that smells like old paper and memories. It’s places like these that remind me how life’s just a big set – like in that film, "A.I. Artificial Intelligence" – where dreams mix with reality. Always tickles my fancy, LOL.

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