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About Trondheim

So, last week, I’m prowlin’—growling, “You merely adopted the dark.”—and I spot this bird, all fishnets and attitude. Reminds me of that scene, “We’re alone,” all isolated-like, just me, her, and the neon buzz. I’m thinkin’, “Mate, she’s either a jackpot or a fuckin’ setup.” Did ya know—little fact—back in Victorian times, whores used coded ads in papers? “French lessons,” my arse—sneaky bastards. Anyway, I’m chattin’ her up, heart poundin’—fuckin’ thrilled, yeah? But then—bam—some geezer rolls up, all aggro, demandin’ cash. Pissed me right off! I’m like, “Oi, cunt, I ain’t your ATM!”

So you want to book a sex worker?

Finally found my way back, and the lecture? It was lit! The students were engaged, asking questions, and I was vibing. But then, mid-lecture, the fire alarm goes off. Like, really? I’m trying to teach about the importance of critical thinking, and now I gotta think about escaping a burning building? Classic Moss, right?

Moss Landing battery fire sparks calls to improve safety, ‘accountability’ for industry