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About Uppsala

But then—bam!—sadness hits. She’s talkin’ bout her kid, hidden away, and I’m like, Christ, this ain’t no fairy tale. “The labyrinth is cruel,” I mutter, straight outta Del Toro’s script. She nods, like she gets it. Surprised me, that—didn’t expect no philosophy from a brass. Makes me think, maybe she’s fightin’ her own war, yeah? We shall fight with growin’ confidence, I reckon, against the pricks who keep her here.

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There are plenty of men in the world who can't find a regular partner, or simply don't want one. Brothels are an outlet for them and this place sounds fairly non-threatening, although 20x in a .

I get to the Kulturhus, and it’s packed with people. I’m feeling all artsy and stuff. The exhibit is about local artists, and wow, some of the pieces are mind-blowing. There’s this one painting that’s just a giant splash of colors. I’m staring at it, thinking, “What the heck does this even mean?” But I love it.