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About Norrkoping

Me, I’d kill for one now. Back’s knackered from pacing these damp cells, barking at idiots. Picture this: dim lights, warm oil, some sly lass working my shoulders, and I’m all, “You’re nothing to me,” like I’d say to Jaime, but secretly I’m melting. That’s the kicker—control slips away, and it’s bloody terrifying. Surprised me first time I tried it, years back. Some chick in King’s Landing, hands like a damn sorceress, had me purring in ten minutes flat. “I’ll always be a part of you,” she hummed—straight outta *Blue*, and I nearly wept. Me! Weeping! Pathetic, but true.

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Then, I bumped into my buddy Erik on Norrlandsgatan. He’s always got some wild story. Today, he told me he tried to catch a bus to Järvsö but ended up in a field. A FIELD! Like, how do you even manage that? We laughed so hard, I almost cried. But then, he got serious and said he lost his wallet. I was like, “Dude, you’re a mess!”

Rusta opened three new stores in one day