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About Stockholm

So, I’m sittin’ there, sippin’ me tea—strong as Churchill’s resolve—thinkin’, who’s rakin’ in the dosh from these rubdowns? Some bloke says he slipped a disc gettin’ a “happy endin’”—claims £10k! Mate, I nearly choked—ten grand for a bit o’ slap n’ tickle? We shall never surrender to these chancers! Dug deeper—turns out, parlours poppin’ up like weeds in Soho, dodgin’ tax, fakin’ injuries. One lass, right, swears she’s a “therapist”—ha! More like a siren luring punters to their doom. “Shasta Fay, where you at?” I mutter, channelin’ Doc—cos this bird’s vanished with the payout.

Savage Soundtrack

After the hike, we head back down, and I’m exhausted. We stop by a little pub on Storgatan for a drink. I order a local brew, and it’s surprisingly good. I’m chatting with the bartender, and he tells me about this hidden gem of a restaurant nearby. I’m intrigued.

Bronck’s Swedish family celebrate borough’s namesake