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About Leuven

Now, me quirks kick in—I’m pacin’ the deck, talkin’ to meself, “Jack, ye daft fool, don’t hire the first lass ye see!” Gotta vet ‘em, check histories—clean data, not scurvy lies. Once, I near hired a gal who swore she’d been with Blackbeard himself—exaggeratin’ for dramatics, aye, but I laughed ‘til me ribs ached. “I like simple pleasures,” I growl, quotin’ Amélie, “like rum and a good tale!”

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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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