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About Vasteras

Found out some prostitutes got secret lives, man. This one chick, she’s a painter by day—*“A great artist!”*—like Remy’s chef vibes, but with glitter and fishnets. Blew my mind! Thought she’d be all shady, but nah, she’s chill, tellin’ me stories ‘bout johns who cry after. Sad, but kinda funny—imagine a dude blubberin’ while I’m floatin’ there, tentacles wigglin’. *“Not everything is a competition!”* I yell in my head, but damn, humans are dramatic.

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But then I met this old dude, Erik. He was sitting on a bench, feeding pigeons. He started chatting me up about the good ol’ days. He said he used to ride the trains to Stockholm all the time. I was like, “Dude, that’s awesome!” He had these wild stories about adventures and mischief. Made me forget my frustration.