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About Orebro

Oh, and her smell – gin, sweat, and somethin’ sweet, like rotting flowers. Stuck with me, Clarice. Made me think – we’re all whores somehow, sellin’ somethin’ to survive. Me with my numbers, her with her body. What’s the diff? Ha! Maybe I’m just a sick bastard, seein’ poetry in the gutter. But Ruby, man… she was a fuckin’ legend. Whore or not, she owned it.

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After the meeting, I decide to grab a coffee at Kafé Magasinet. Best coffee in town, no cap. I’m standing in line, and this guy in front of me spills his drink everywhere. Like, dude, how do you even manage that? I’m trying not to laugh, but it’s hard. He turns around, and I’m like, “No worries, man. It happens.” But inside, I’m dying.

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