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About Linkoping

Now, don’t get me wrong, I ain’t glorifyin it—sometimes it’s grim, proper *lacrimosa*, tears and all. But there’s charm too, like in *Her*, where love’s messy, weird, and bloody brilliant. Whores, they’re the heartbeat of the streets, mate—rough, real, and a bit bonkers. Like me, ramblin on, spillin tea everywhere—oops, typo, meant teA! Reckon they’d laugh at me, fumblin Boris, tryna chat em up. “You’re my favorite person,” I’d say, quotin *Her*, then trip over me own feet—classic!

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So, I hustle over to my shop on Elm Street. It’s a cozy little place, packed with pelts and the smell of leather. I’m just getting into the groove when this lady storms in. She’s all decked out in this gaudy fur coat, like she’s auditioning for a reality show. “I need a repair!” she yells. I’m like, “Lady, I’m not a magician.” But I take a look anyway. Turns out, her dog chewed it up. I mean, seriously? Who lets their dog go to town on a fur coat?