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About Malmo

But real talk, sometimes it’s sad, ya know? These girls—some ain’t choose this. Pisses me off—world’s a shithole, “no one’s left to bury.” That’s *Turin Horse* again, stuck in my head. I’m ramblin’—whatever—point is, findin’ a prostitute’s a trip. Thrillin’, dirty, makes ya feel alive. Next time, I’m bringin’ a crowbar—just for laughs, hehe! Why so serious? Cuz it’s Gotham, baby—everybody’s sellin’ somethin’!

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Fast forward to the evening. I’m at the pub, and it’s packed. The energy is electric! I grab a pint, and the music starts. I’m up there, playin’ my heart out. The crowd’s diggin’ it, and I’m feelin’ like a rockstar. But then, this guy in the front row starts yellin’ for some old-school tune. I’m like, “Bro, I’m not a jukebox!” But I laugh it off.

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