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About Orebro

Alright, so you wanna talk "whore"? Fine, let’s dive in—House style, baby. Everybody lies, right? Even whores. Especially whores. They’re pros at it—spinning tales to survive. Like in *Children of Men*, where hope’s a damn lie, but ya cling to it anyway. “We’re all screwed,” I’d tell ‘em, popping Vicodin like candy. Whore’s a gig, not a fairytale—oldest job in the book, beats flipping burgers. Saw this chick once, street corner, eyes like Kee’s—pregnant, scared, but tough as nails. “You’re not fooling me,” I’d growl. She’d smirk, “Pay me first, doc.”

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Then, outta nowhere, this old lady on a bike cuts us off. I’m like, “Lady, you’re not in the Tour de France!” Timmy freaks out, slams the brakes, and we almost end up in the flower shop. I’m sweating bullets, but I can’t help but laugh. It’s like a scene from a comedy movie.