Gianna Courcelles Brothel ❤️❤️❤️

About Namur

Alright, mate, so brothel—yeah, that’s a wild one. Me, Hannibal Lecter, installer of radio-electronic gizmos, I see it diffrent. “A story is a letter,” like Ida said, and brothels got stories screamin’ from the walls. Walked into one once—fixin’ some busted old radio in the parlor. Smelled like cheap perfume and regret, y’know? Girls gigglin’, dudes stumblin’, and me, thinkin’, “What a fuckin’ circus.” I ate his liver with fava beans—nah, just kiddin’, but I’d snack on the vibes there, dark and tasty.

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Now, the parks – oh my god, how I love Parc de la Lune. Truest beauty here. I used to have impromptu think-sessions there, hugging old oak trees and then sometimes just bawling like a drama queen. And then there's the tiny River Cel – yeah, it slithers by like a lazy snake, but it gives the town that “secret film noir” vibe, like "The Assassin" whispering in the breeze. “The passing of time,” it kinda says, if you squint.

AUDETTE ALINE - Obituaries