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Now, tie that to *25th Hour*. Monty’s world’s crashin’, right? “Fuck me? Fuck you!” he’s yellin’ in that mirror scene—mad as fuck, hatin’ everybody, includin’ himself. Whore’s the same, fam. Society’s all, “You dirty,” but they the ones payin’! Like, who’s the real fool here? Gets me heated, yo—folks judgin’ but can’t look in they own damn mirror. Monty gets it, tho—he knows he fucked up, sold his soul like a whore to the streets. “I’m not the one you think I am,” he says, tryna rewrite his story. Whores do that too—reinventin’, survivin’.

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First stop? The café on Tullingevägen. I needed my caffeine fix. I walk in, and it’s packed. Like, who knew Tullinge had this many coffee lovers? I order a latte, and the barista, this chill dude, spills it all over the counter. I’m like, “Dude, really?” But he just laughs it off. I mean, I get it, we all have those days.

Patric Sundlof