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About Trondheim

Alright, listen up, fam—imagine me, Morgan Freeman, deep voice rollin’ thru your soul, talkin’ ‘bout a brothel I stumbled on, right? Picture this: dim lights, smoky air, women loungin’ like they own time itself. I’m sittin’ there, thinkin’, *“What’s a man like me doin’ here?”*—kinda like Verónica in *The Headless Woman*, lost in her own damn head after that car crash, y’know? “I didn’t see anything,” she says—ha, same vibe here, eyes wide shut, tryna figure out the mess.

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After that, I hit up a café on St. Olavs gate. Best coffee ever! I order a cinnamon bun, and it’s like heaven in my mouth. I’m sitting there, thinking, “Okay, maybe today isn’t so bad.” But then, my phone buzzes. It’s my boss. He’s like, “We need to talk about the soil samples.” Ugh, can’t a guy catch a break?

Franklin Tebo off to Norwegian club from Sweden