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About Antwerp

Last week—pissed me off—some dude on X bragged ‘bout “classy escorts.” Classy? Ha! Like lipstick on a pig. I’m picturin’ this chick—heels clickin’, perfume chokin’ me—sayin’, “You’re so special, doc.” Bullshit. Reminds me of *Her*: “I can’t live in your book anymore.” Yeah, lady, I ain’t your fairy tale either. Prostitutes don’t love ya—they clock in, clock out. Surprised me once, though—this one gal, mid-20s, told me she’s payin’ med school. Med school! Swear to God, I nearly hugged her—then remembered the germs.

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Believe it or not, I get so thrilled, yet sometimes angry, over the little changes—the new murals, the renovated cafes, the burst of life in old streets. Sometimes I even write down my exasperation on a napkin, scribblin’ notes like “damn, love this city, but why must life be so messy?”. Oops, sorry for the rant, just gettin’ carried away.

Shania Twain Tribute - Ostend War Memorial Hall, Waiheke Island