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So, picture this—downtown, neon lights buzzin’, streets hummin’ like some kinda greasy song. You’re out there, huntin’, lookin’ for that “transactional love”—ha! Ain’t that a kicker? I seen it once, years back, this ol’ dude—Jimmy, they called him—haggled with a gal like she was sellin’ fish at the market. “Ten bucks less, c’mon!” he hollered. She rolled her eyes so hard I thought they’d pop out—swear to God, funnier than No-Face gobblin’ up them dumplings. Made me laugh, but damn, it stung too—how’s it come to that, huh?

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After that chaos, I head out to grab some coffee at that little café on Norrgatan. You know the one? The one with the weirdly awesome pastries? I get my caffeine fix, and I’m feeling a bit better. But then, I step outside, and it’s pouring rain. Like, Gislaved, what’s up with the weather? One minute it’s sunny, the next it’s a monsoon. I’m soaked in seconds.

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