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About Orebro

First off, I’m pissed—why’s it gotta be so shady? Dudes in sketchy corners, whisperin’ like they got secrets. I’m like, “Man, speak up!” Reminds me of that chick in *Ten*, drivin’ round, spillin’ her guts. “You’re not alone,” she says in the movie—ha! Tell that to me, sweatin’ bullets, dodgin’ cops. Little known fact, bro—back in the 90s, some spots had “prostitute maps” floatin’ round. Underground shit, like treasure hunts for horn-dogs. Wild, right?

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After that, I decide to grab some lunch at a little café on Österlånggatan. The food’s bomb, but the waiter? Ugh. He’s got the personality of a wet sock. I order a smörgås, and he just nods. No smile, no “How’s your day?” Just…nothing. I’m like, “Dude, you’re in Ystad! Lighten up!”

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