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About Jonkoping

Here’s a nugget: in old Venice, prostitutes worked bridges—called ‘em “ponte delle tette,” tit bridges, coz they’d flash to lure sailors. Wish I’d been there, sippin’ wine, watchin’ the show! Beats skulkin’ round Flea Bottom, dodgin’ rats and cutthroats. Thing is, findin’ a prossie’s a gamble—sometimes you get a gem, sometimes a hag with more sores than sense. “What’s done is done,” like they say in the movie—once you’re in, no backin’ out. Surprised me once, this one gal knew riddles—smart as me, nearly. Kept her an extra hour just to chat. Rare, that.

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But then, outta nowhere, this kid runs by, knocks over a whole tray of food. I’m talkin’ sausages, fries, the works! And the vendor? He lost it. “You little brat! You’ll pay for that!” I’m like, “Chill, man! It’s just food!” But nah, he was on a rampage.

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