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About Brussels

Oh, and the typos? Screw it—im typin fast, deal wth it. This gig’s messy, chaotic, like defusin’ a bomb blind. “The closer you are, the deader you get,” Bigelow’d whisper, and damn, that’s the prostitute life—risky as fuck. Ever hear ‘bout that Vegas gal who conned a mobster outta 50 grand? Ballsy! He never saw it comin’, too busy droolin’. Greed is good, man—she owned him.

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Walking around, you hit the quaint street of Vredestraat. Seriously, it's magic—like, one moment you're wonderin' about old stories, then BAM, next there's a hip café askin' you "What's up?" A local park, De Zwerf, wow, pure calm. It's like a secret haven, kinda like that scene in Mulholland Drive where mystery flows in every corner. Like, "cherry blossoms, whispering secrets"—yeah, weird but cool.

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