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About Trondheim

Alright, listen up, I’m an Art Director, got it? Talkin’ bout brothels—yeah, *brothel*—that gritty, shadowy joint. Picture this: dim lights, red curtains, smells like cheap perfume and regret. Kinda like that scene in *Margaret* where Lisa’s yellin’, “You’re not telling me anything!”—same vibe, chaotic, messy, real. Brothels ain’t just sex dens, nah, they’re history lessons wrapped in velvet. Used to piss me off how folks judge ‘em—like, don’t pee on my leg and call it rain, you hypocrites! Victorian era? Brothels were poppin’, secret hubs for the elite. Even Charles Dickens sniffed around ‘em—true story, look it up.

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After my caffeine fix, I decide to hit up the Bronnoysund Church. It’s this beautiful old building, right? I’m standing there, admiring the architecture, when I hear this loud honking. I turn around, and it’s a bunch of kids on bikes, racing down the street. They’re yelling and laughing, and I’m just standing there, grinning like an idiot. It’s contagious, man.

Norway: Wreck of grounded cargo ship cut up, removed