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About Tromso

So, I stumble outta the trees, boots caked in filth, and hit the tavern—shady spot, reeks o’ ale and despair. There she be, a wench with eyes like stolen stars, leanin’ on the bar. “Thou art a thief,” I mutter, “stealin’ me breath like Cobb nabbin’ secrets!” She smirks—ooh, that got me riled! Cheeky tart, playin’ me like a fiddle. I’m half-angry, half-buzzin’, ‘cos she’s a riddle wrapped in silk.

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So, I’m trudging down Bryggen, the old wharf. It’s beautiful, all those colorful wooden houses. But today? They looked like they were crying too. I’m like, “C’mon, even the buildings are sad?” I stop for coffee at a little café on Torgallmenningen. Best coffee ever, but the barista? Total grump. I’m like, “Dude, it’s just coffee, not rocket science.” He rolls his eyes. I mean, chill, man.

Storms lead to 'partial collapse' of roof at Bergen County Academies auditorium