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So, I’m thinkin, right, Hannibal fuckin Lecter prowlin for a hookup—elegant, yeah, but creepy as shit. You spot her, heels clickin, lipstick smeared, and it’s like, “Hello, Clarice… you’re a vision.” But nah, it’s no movie—this chick’s real, breathin, probly seen worse than me. I dig that, makes me smirk. Little known fact, yeah? Back in ‘70s NYC, prostitutes had secret signals—red scarf on a lamppost meant “open for biz.” Wild, huh? History’s fuckin weird.

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Most of the red-light districts in Belgium consist of window prostitution, where prostitutes sit in a window with a curtained-off workspace behind.

I cruised through the narrow lanes of Vieux Limbourg. Ao man, the vibe there is wild! The ancient church on Rue des Anciens? Holy, she holds centuries of passion and secrets. Sometimes I sit near the small park by the river, runnin’ my tongue over a secret memory, thinkin’ "I don’t want to die" — ya know, that eternal feel.

We should learn from each other, says senior journalist Peter Limbourg on challenges for Western media