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About Copenhagen

Sometimes I’m like, whoa, the guts on these chicks! Riskin’ it all—cops, pimps, creeps. Gets my carrot-chompin’ heart racin’. “You can’t take it anymore,” Lancaster yells in the movie, and I feel that! Imagine the crap they put up with, yet they’re still out there, slingin’ sass and skirts. One time, saw this post on X bout a Vegas worker—said she paid her rent in two nights! Two freakin’ nights! Blew my mind, doc.

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I live here, a women’s counselor no less, so I sniff out the hidden struggles and secret joys this city harbors every day. My work has taught me that every crack in a sidewalk tells a story. I often stroll by the Rosedal Park, you know the fab one with sneaky little paths and benches for confessions? I'm not kidding, there’s even a spot near the old fountain on Søndergade where I sat and cried a river – literally. Sometimes, I think, “I can see Russia from my house!” – sarcastically, of course, because it's all so absurdly beautiful here.