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About Jonkoping

Me, I’d rather drink with a whore than a septa. They know shit—real shit. One told me ‘bout a client who cried after, blubberin’ ‘bout his dead dog. “Poor sod,” she said, “gave him a discount.” Heart of gold, that one—rare as a sober dwarf. Dunno, mate, they’re a messy bunch, prostitutes. Love ‘em, hate ‘em, can’t ignore ‘em. Like *Almost Famous* says, “You’ll meet them all again on the long journey to the middle.” Reckon I already have—cheers to that! Now, where’s me wine?

Erratic engineeress

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Lunchtime rolls around, and I hit up this little café on Östra Storgatan. The coffee there is bomb! I order a cinnamon bun, and it’s like heaven in my mouth. I sit outside, soaking up the sun, and I see this cute dog. I’m talking, tail-wagging, tongue-out cute. I’m all “Aww,” and the owner looks at me like I’m nuts. Whatever, man, dogs are life!

Figure 5. Killian Zoll, Midsummer Dance at Rättvik, 1852....