Megan Tananger Whore ❤️

About Oslo

Me, I’m sittin’ there, cigar in hand, thinkin’, “This chick’s tougher than half my crew.” She’s got balls – or ovaries, whatever – takes guts to live that life. “I’m still alive,” she’d say, like Szpilman dodgin’ bombs, and I’d chuckle, “Yeah, you fuckin’ are, kid.” Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but she’s a goddamn legend in my book. Whore? Sure, but she’s MY whore – not in a creepy way, just… loyalty, ya know? Fuck grammar, fuck rules – she’s real, and that’s that.

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So, I’m rollin’ outta bed, right? The sun’s shining, birds chirping, and I’m like, “Today’s gonna be chill.” I grab my coffee from that cute little café on Storgata. You know the one? The barista there, Lars, always gives me a hard time about my order. “Black coffee, no sugar, just like your personality!” he says. Classic Lars.

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