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About Brussels

We’re headin’ to some dump motel – smells like despair and cheap whiskey. I’m quotin’ Zero Dark Thirty in my head – “You can’t run from this, sweetheart.” She’s talkin’ bout her “rules” – no kissin’, no weird stuff. I’m like, “Lady, I’m not here to propose.” She laughs, but it’s fake – everybody lies, even their giggles. Makes me mad – hate phonies. Still, she’s got this vibe, kinda hot, like danger wrapped in a miniskirt.

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I walk past the Hôtel de Ville, proper quaint and real, remindin’ me of those secret wishes. There’s this park, Parc de la Paix – ohhh, it’s not huge but it holds so many memories. Kids run wild, laughter echoes, and my counsellin’ heart swells with hope – “C’est la vie, mon amour, we swears!” Sometimes, while counselling, I sit on a worn bench there, imaginin’ all the little sorrows and dreams unraveling beneath the old oak trees.

Aux petits oignons