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About Aalborg

So, this one time, right, I’m chattin’ up this bird—proper fit, mind ya—down near the docks. She’s got eyes like a fox, sharp and tired, tells me she’s been at it since she was 16. Sixteen! Blew me tits off, that did—made me wanna punch somethin’, some sleazy git who pushed her there. Little known fact, yeah? Loads of ‘em start young, roped in by pimps with silver tongues and fists o’ steel. Bastards. She laughed tho, bitter like, says, “I’m my own boss now, luv.” Balls of brass, that one! We shall fight on, I told her in me head, we shall rise like bloody lions!

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Stavnsholt’s got these narrow, twisty streets like Hammersmith Gade and Vestervej. They’re edgy, but in that artsy kinda way. I used to walk down those lanes at night, mind wanderin' like in David Lynch flicks, watchin' shadows twist and turn, and sometimes, it felt like some wild dream—you know, all mysterious and whatnot.