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About Jonkoping

Sadie’s probly got scars, stories—shit, I’d buy her a drink just to hear em. “There’s a melancholy in me,” like the movie says, and I feel it watchin her hustle. She’s no angel, sure, but who is? Not me, sittin here judgin like a prick. Ha, maybe I’m the whore—sellin my soul to the night, monotone narration, “Tonight’s the night.” Nah, she’s cooler than me. Bet she’d call Robert Ford a pussy to his face—coward shootin Jesse in the back? Weak.

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Man, what a day! I swear, Gislaved really knows how to throw a curveball. So, I’m up early, like, way too early. The sun’s barely peeking over the rooftops on Storgatan, and I’m already dragging my butt to the milking station. You know, the usual grind. Cows don’t milk themselves, right?

Aneo commissions its first utility scale solar park