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About Linkoping

Lemme tell ya, first time I saw it—jaw dropped. Some dude in a dim room, candles flickerin’, gettin’ rubbed down. Thought, “Man, this is some fancy shit!” Made me happy—people chillin’, lettin’ go. But pissed me off too—why’s it gotta be so hush-hush? Society actin’ like it’s dirty. Ain’t dirty—it’s art, fam! Hands movin’ like they’re dancin’, slow and wise. Like Agnès Varda said, “I’m collecting fragments of time.” That’s erotic-massage—fragments of calm in a crazy-ass world.

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So, I finally make it to the market at Norra Berget. It’s buzzing! Fresh veggies, fish, and all that jazz. I’m looking for some good feed for my pigs. I spot this old lady selling potatoes. She’s got the best ones, I swear. But then, she starts telling me about her cat. Like, I’m here for potatoes, not a cat story! But she’s sweet, so I listen.

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