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About Orebro

So, picture this—some chick, let’s call her Ruby, alright? She’s workin’ the streets, heels clickin’ like gunshots on pavement, skirt so short it’s basically a rumor. I’m thinkin’, man, she’s got guts—*guts*, y’know? Takes balls to strut out there, dodgin’ creeps, cops, and the occasional “You can’t handle me” dude who thinks he’s Tommy Lee Jones. “What’s the most you ever lost on a coin toss?”—that’s her life, every damn night, a gamble. And I’m sittin’ here, sippin’ coffee, gettin’ mad—mad as hell—‘cause society’s all “tsk tsk,” judgin’ her, but they don’t *see* her, y’know? They don’t see the hustle.

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Anyway, I finally get to the first client. She’s this sweet old lady named Ingrid. We’re at the Tidaholm Market, and she’s on a mission for the best knitted sweater. I’m thinking, “This is gonna be easy-peasy.” But nooo, she wants it in a specific shade of lavender that doesn’t exist. I’m like, “Ingrid, lavender is not a color, it’s a mood!” But she’s not having it.

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