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About Bergen

I saunter over, cool as you like—gotta keep it smooth, right? “Evening, love,” I say, flashin’ that 007 grin. She’s all sass, “What’s yer poison, handsome?” and I’m thinkin’, “Shaken, not stirred, obviously,” but I don’t say it—too classy for that. Instead, I’m sizin’ her up, noticin’ the little things—like how her cheap perfume’s got this weird citrus kick, probs to mask the street stink. Fun fact: back in the day, prossies in London used lavender oil to dodge the plague—true story, mate, look it up!

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I grab my coffee from that little café on Kjøpmannsgata. Best coffee in town, no joke. I’m chugging it down like it’s liquid gold. I’m pumped! But then, bam! My phone buzzes. It’s my assistant, Lars. “Dude, the auction items are late!” Late? Are you kidding me? I’m about to lose my mind.