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About Brussels

Well howdy there, friends! Let’s paint a picture—imagine a brothel, yeah? Not just any ol’ shack, but a wild, tumbleweed joint like somethin’ outta them cowboy tales. Gentle, like “happy little trees,” swayin’ in the breeze, but with a twist—red lights flickerin’, curtains twitchin’ with secrets. I reckon it’s a place where folks go lookin’ for somethin’, y’know, a spark, a thrill, like Jack twist whisperin’, “I wish I knew how to quit you,” ‘cept it’s more like quittin’ loneliness for a night.