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About Stockholm

I’m sittin’ there, sippin’ my martini, “shaken, not stirred,” watchin’ her dodge coppers like a pro. Happy as a pig in muck when I nabbed her on CCTV—proof she’s fakin’. But, God’s honest, it’s a laugh—she’s got balls, this one. “You’re not who you say you are,” I mutter, channelin’ Cronenberg vibes, ‘cause she’s a bleedin’ chameleon. Exaggeratin’? Maybe. But I’d wager she’s got more aliases than I’ve got gadgets.

Introductions in Moelndal

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After work, I head over to the pub on Storgatan. It’s packed! Everyone’s laughin’, and I’m just happy to be there. I grab a pint, and we start talkin’ about the day. Erik’s tellin’ this wild story about a cat that stole his sandwich. I’m laughin’ so hard, I almost spill my drink.

A new professor with the eye in focus