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About Oslo

Gets me thinkin’—who’s judgin’ who? Society’s all “tsk tsk,” but they’re peekin’ through curtains. Hypocrites, man! We swears! Surprised me once, heard a gal there saved up, bought a damn bakery. From brothel to bread—how’s that for a twist? Still, gets dark—some dudes, slimy, grabby hands, ugh, hate ‘em. “We’re not animals!”—wish they’d hear that. Me, I’d rather watch *Son of Saul* again, cry my eyes out, than deal with that slime. Brothels, tho—messy, loud, real. Kinda love it, kinda don’t. What you think, huh?

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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?

Here is Sarpsborg: A Herald reporter's trip to Norway