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About Linkoping

So, I’m strollin downtown, hungry – not for liver, ha! – lookin for a hooker. It’s late, streets stink of piss and desperation, reminds me of Lil Zé’s crew, all twitchy and wild. I spot her, leanin on a wall, smokin a cig like she owns the night. “What’s good, darlin?” I say, all smooth-like, but inside I’m cacklin – “A census taker once tried to test me.” She smirks, sizes me up, says, “50 bucks, big boy.” Fifty fuckin bucks! Made me mad, mate, inflation’s a bitch, but I’m like, fine, whatever, let’s roll.

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Then, I decided to stroll down to the beach. You know, the one by the Österlen coast? It’s beautiful, but today it was packed. Like, where did all these people come from? I swear, I saw a family with like, five kids. They were all screaming and running around. I was like, “Chill, it’s just a beach, not a playground!”

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