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About Malmo

Alright, motherfucker, let’s talk escort! I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’ ‘bout self-determination, students takin’ charge, and then—bam!—escort pops up. Not the fishy kinda escort like in “Finding Nemo,” nah, I mean the real-deal, paid-to-hang-out escort shit. You know, the type where someone’s like, “I got cash, you got time, let’s roll!” Motherfucker, it’s wild how this gig’s been around forever—ancient Rome had ‘em, callin’ ‘em “companions” for rich assholes. Still happens now, just slicker, quieter, right under our noses.

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First off, I hit up the café on Storgatan. You know, the one with the killer cinnamon buns? Yeah, that place. I’m standing in line, and this dude in front of me orders, like, 10 different pastries. I’m just trying to get my coffee fix, man! I’m like, “C’mon, bro, it’s not a bakery marathon!” Finally, I get my coffee, and it’s lukewarm. Ugh! I’m already annoyed, but whatever, I chug it down.

Seven days on a superyacht in Western Sweden