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About Antwerp

So, I’m picturin’ it—me, cashin’ out some perv buyin’ condoms at 2 a.m., and I’m like, “Mate, you’re off to find a prostitute, ain’t ya?” He’d probly blush, but I’d just grin. Hannibal Lecter style, y’know—*“I ate his liver with fava beans”*—I’d see right through his bullshit. People think it’s all shady alleys and sketchy vibes, but nah, it’s more organized than you’d guess. Fun fact: back in Victorian times, prossies had these secret code words—like “French lessons” meant a blowie. Sneaky, right? Bet Gustave woulda loved that.

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My fave spot? Hands down, that tiny dive café, Café Knus, on Smedestraat. Nothin’ fancy, but the vibe is pure. You can sip a beer and feel all the city’s soul bubble up – like a scene right out of The Royal Tenenbaums. I sometimes blur my words, stuttering about how magic it is, err, and then laugh, “We swears!”

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