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About Stockholm

Once, I saw this chick—fishnets, smokin’ a cig—thought, “She’s the one!” But nah, she was just chillin’, not sellin’. Laughed my ass off—mistook a rando for a pro! Happens, tho—streets are a damn puzzle. You gotta know the codes, the spots. Like, in Amsterdam, red lights mean go—legal as fuck, wild to see. Here? Shady alleys, whispers, cash upfront. Gets me mad, tho—why’s it gotta be so hush-hush? Society’s fake as hell, judgin’ but watchin’ porn on the low.

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First off, I hit up Storgatan. It’s like the main drag, ya know? Packed with people, cars, and that weird smell of kebabs. I’m like, “Dude, I just wanna grab a coffee.” But nooo, the line at that café was longer than a moose’s antlers! I’m standin’ there, thinkin’ about how I could be out in the woods, chillin’ with the squirrels.

‘I Would Love to Fly a Trans Flag, But It Might Put My Animals in Danger’