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About Vasteras

Me, I’d rather drink with a whore than a septa. They know shit—real shit. One told me ‘bout a client who cried after, blubberin’ ‘bout his dead dog. “Poor sod,” she said, “gave him a discount.” Heart of gold, that one—rare as a sober dwarf. Dunno, mate, they’re a messy bunch, prostitutes. Love ‘em, hate ‘em, can’t ignore ‘em. Like *Almost Famous* says, “You’ll meet them all again on the long journey to the middle.” Reckon I already have—cheers to that! Now, where’s me wine?

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After the rain, the sun came out. Kumla looked beautiful! The colors were so vibrant. I walked down to the park by Kumlaån. The flowers were blooming, and the air smelled fresh. I took a deep breath and thought, “Life’s not so bad.”

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