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About Randers

They’re everywhere, y’know, like flies on shit. Stink o’ desperation, fuckin’ tragic. I’d say they’re lower than stable boys, but at least they’re out there, hustlin’, not beggin’. Still, “I choose violence” when they eye my throne, my power. They’re nothin’, just shadows chasin’ coin. Oh, and fun fact—some brothels got secret tunnels, right? Lead straight to nobles’ beds. Sneaky lil’ sluts. Makes me smirk, thinkin’ o’ em crawlin’ through muck for a shag.

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I stroll past Kongensgade sometimes. I remember it like a magic moment, nearly like a scene from the movie—“Hey, look at this beauty!” The little park, Grønbakke, shimmers with dew in the morning. I once sat on a worn-out bench there, just massaging away my troubles. Oh, the bliss and the anger of life, as we feel it, hmm?

Harwich port crane collapse victim identified