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About Esbjerg

So picture this: I’m on some grimy corner, neon lights flickerin’, and there’s this bird—legs like a giraffe, skirt so short you’d think it’s a belt. I’m like, “Blimey, you’re a walkin’ health hazard!” She’d probably clock me one, but I’d deserve it. Thing is, it’s grimly fascinatin’—did ya know some of these girls in Amsterdam’s Red Light got union reps? Yeah, proper workers’ rights for shaggin’! Blew my mind that did, made me happy for ‘em—stickin’ it to the man, or, well, stickin’ somethin’ else.

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I love comin’ back to my own little haven on Parkvej. Sure, it’s modest, but it’s real, you know? I even got this battered vinyl collection, and every now and then, I spin some records and feel like I’m in a scene with Mulholland Drive echoing in the background—so ambiguous, so damn intriguing.