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But then—ugh, the pimps. Greasy fucks. One time, saw this dude slap a girl outside a motel—rage hit me hard. Wanted to carve him up, serve him rare. “A man’s flesh is his own,” Saul whispers in my head. Shoulda been hers too, not his. Pisses me off—exploitation’s the real sin here. Still, some escorts? Total bosses. This one gal, ran her own gig online—OnlyFans vibes, but classier. No middleman, just cash and control. Made me grin—fuck the system, ya know?

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Neighborhood-wise, the vibe shifts dramatically from the urban hustle of the harbour meets down by the quiet charm of Sandsvej. Even the locals have a peculiar street slang, a gruff, no-nonsense tone that makes you feel you belong or you'll be left behind. I’ve seen couples meet and break hearts on these streets; it’s almost poetic. But let me tell you, it's not all roses. There’s anger, too—mad anger, the kind that makes you wanna shout at the world. Once, a fight erupted near the old mill—a chaos of shouted insults and broken dreams. "I choose violence," indeed, a line fit for any day spent within these borders.

Utzon’s centenary marked with exhibition of rare archival material