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Oi, listen up, ya filthy dogs! Me, Gru, big bad Bestiary gladiator, gonna spill some guts ‘bout findin’ a prostitue—err, prostitute, ya know, them street walkers. Got dat Russian-ish fire in me, “Lightbulb!”—seein’ stuff ya blind bats miss. Picture dis: dark alley, neon buzzin’, smells like sweat and cheap vodka. Reminds me of fave flick, *Under the Skin*—dat creepy vibe, ya? “What are you?” I mutter, like dat alien chick, sizin’ up some dame leanin’ on a wall.

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I’m runnin’ down Östermalmsgatan, and I trip over a cobblestone. Classic! I’m like, “Great, now I’m gonna look like a fool.” But I laugh it off. I mean, who trips in Motala? Apparently, me.

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