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About Gothenburg

Oi, mateys! ‘Tis me, Cap’n Jack Sparrow, slurrin’ me wit fer ya, savvy? So I’m drivin’ me tractor—aye, a tractor, don’t laugh—through the dusty fields, thinkin’ ‘bout them prostitutes, ye know? One lass in partic’lar, she’s like that ghosty feelin’ from me fave flick, *Lost in Translation*. “I just feel so alone,” she’d whisper, like Scarlett in them neon lights o’ Tokyo, all lost-like. Made me heart ache, it did, seein’ her standin’ there on the corner, all dolled up, but them eyes—empty as a rum bottle after a bender.

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But then, the weather turns. It starts pouring like the sky’s crying. I’m standing there, looking out at the rain on Storgatan, and I’m like, “Great, just great.” But Lars is all, “Nah, man, it’ll be fine!” He’s got this crazy optimism that’s kinda infectious.