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About Ghent

What surprised me? How chill she was—didn’t flinch, didn’t fuss, just business. Kinda hot, if I’m honest. “The wind carries no mercy,” I think, quotin *Timbuktu* again—fits her perfect, cold as the Sahara. We haggle, I’m laughin inside—me, Hannibal fuckin Lecter, hagglin with a street queen! End up at 30 bucks—score! She’s all, “Let’s roll,” and I’m like, hell yea, night’s lookin up.

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I gotta mention the River Semois. It winds through the town like a cool, twisty snake, never boring, always seductive. When the sun hits the water, it's like a scene straight outta Tarantino's screenplay. I always joke, "Motherf***er, even the river's got style!" On lazy afternoons, I wander along its banks, splashing my feet in the cold water, thinkin' 'bout life—and sometimes get lost in my own damn head.

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