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About Bruges

But wait, split-brain kicks in—hiss! Other me says, “No, no, fair trade, precious!” Back in Victorian days, tarts got sixpence—fact, that! Now it’s all posh, “companions” they call ‘em. Pfft, fancy nonsense! Reminds me—Nemo’s dad, Marlin, all panicky, “Where’s me boy?” Me? I’d be screamin’, “Where’s me prossie?!” Haha, mad chase, innit?

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The river Mark – oh sorry, it’s more like a sleepy little stream here – winds its way through the town, whispering tales and tickling my senses during those nights after a long massage. It’s all so surreal sometimes. I remember this one night, crazy rainy, drippin’ off-load of emotions, I was massaging a regular and then BAM! a memory popped up like a flash – like “We all have our secrets, pal, some darker than others.” Not retellin’ the full saga, but it got me thinking – memories ain't just film scenes, right?

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