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About Aalst

Sometimes I wonder—late night, sippin’ whiskey—what’s it like, y’know? Bein’ an escort, dodgin’ creeps, fakin’ smiles. Gotta be tough as nails. Prolly lonely too—makes me sad, thinkin’ they’re out there, no backup. “You’re on your own now,” I hear Bigelow whisperin’ in my head. But then—bam!—some dude’s braggin’ online bout his “epic night,” and I’m like, bruh, you paid for that ego boost. Cracks me up—escorts are the real MVPs, playin’ these fools like fiddles.

What's on my mind

Our neighborhoods? Just a hodgepodge. The old quarters near Église Saint-Martin – yeah, that’s it – have those cobblestone alleys that smell like faded memories, and maybe a fart or two, lol. I love ‘em though. Asking for directions here is like a game of “pin the tail on the donkey” – you never know if you’ll actually reach your destination.

Cannabis plantation discovered in uninhabited premises in Hainaut