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About Liege

So, findin’ a prossie, right? Ain’t no walk in Rivendell. You’re dodgin’ creeps, sketchy alleys—makes me wanna yell, “Fool of a Took!” at every shady corner. Back in the day, medieval times even, they had “stewhouses”—brothels run by nuns, can ya believe it? Nuns! Pimpin’ on the sly—history’s nuts! Made me laugh ‘til I choked on me pipe-weed. Imagine that in *Tropical Malady*—the jungle beast turnin’ tricks, ha!

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There's Rue de la Liberté, yeah, that one near the old brick bakery – the scent of fresh baguettes fills the air, and I keep sippin’ my coffee there. Then ya got Place du Marché – a lively square with local vendors, chattin’ nonstop about politics, love, and mud. I tell ya, if you don’t chat up the stall owners, ya might as well be an idiot sandwich!

‘The Season of Migration’ by Nellie Hermann