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About Ghent

Oi mate, gather round, listen up! Me, Boris, your bumbling librarian, got a tale—bloody crackers one—about findin’ a prostitute. Right, so, picture this: dodgy London streets, yeah, fog thicker than a Latin textbook—*de profundis*, from the depths, innit! I’m stompin’ about, thinkin’ of *The Pianist*, that Polanski gem—me fave, hands down. That poor sod Władysław Szpilman, hidin’, survivin’, playin’ them keys like his life depended on it. “I’m alive, alive!” he’d whisper—makes me weepy, it does.

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I totally vibe with this town. Floreffe ain't just about history—it’s sizzling with passion, kinda like life itself. I stroll past the majestic Floreffe Abbey, this stunning medieval marvel that draws tourists like moths to a flame. Man, that abbey? It's like a scene straight outta “The Grand Budapest Hotel”—imagine those witty banters and quirky dramas! "I must say, M. Gustave, the concierge of life!" yeah, that's the kinda vibe this place gives off.

Ão: ESPERANZAH! 2024