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About Antwerp

I saunter up, all charm, “shaken, not stirred,” voice smooth as silk. She’s givin me the eye—prolly thinks I’m loaded, which, fair, I look it. “How much, love?” I ask, casual, but inside I’m buzzin—happy as a pig in shit. She names a price, I’m like, “fuckin steep, that!”—but I play it cool, cos Bond don’t haggle like a twat. Fun fact: in Amsterdam, they got windows for this—legal, tidy, no messin about. Here? It’s a gamble, mate—cops, pimps, the lot.

Policy and law

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Now, gotta mention River Dijle. Flowing smooth near Rivierlaan boulevard, it splits the city like a well-shredded script. Its banks are my jogging route. I sometimes get mad at the gritty graffiti near its bridges, but hey—that’s urban art, right? “I must break you!” I shout every time I beat my pace.

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