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So, this tune—prolly some lo-fi hip-hop or trap beat, right? Got them heavy bass kicks, makin’ my damn speakers shake, and some sleazy synths slidin’ in like a pimp’s pinky ring flashin’. Lyrics? Bet they’re talkin’ ‘bout cruisin’ neon-lit corners, scopin’ for that late-night trade—shit’s real, not some polished radio crap. Reminds me of that *Social Network* line, “You don’t get to 500 million friends without makin’ a few enemies”—ha! Swap “friends” for “clients,” and you got a pimp’s anthem, motherfucker!

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I turn the corner onto Prästgatan, and boom! There’s a protest. Like, a legit protest. People waving signs, shouting stuff. I’m like, “What’s happening?” Turns out, they’re mad about the new tax on... wait for it... coffee! I mean, c’mon! Who taxes coffee? That’s just cruel. I felt my economist heart break a little.

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