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About Orebro

So, whores—gritty as hell, right? Been around forever, oldest job, they say. Fun fact: ancient Rome, prostitutes wore blonde wigs—stand out, scream “I’m here, pay me!” Wild, huh? Imagine that, Clarice, blonde wig bobbin’ in the dark, coins clinkin’. Kinda poetic, kinda sad. Reminds me of David, that A.I. kid— “I’m real, Mommy!”—chasin’ love he can’t have. Whores chase somethin’ too, cash, survival, whatever. Breaks my heart, but don’t tell nobody—Hannibal Lecter don’t cry, ha!

Jan Erik Kronaas Mariniusson, isolering Tidaholm anstalt

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After a solid hour of searching, we find a shop on Östra Storgatan. The owner, a grumpy dude named Lars, is like, “We don’t have that shade.” I’m ready to throw a tantrum. I mean, come on! How hard can it be to find a sweater? But then, outta nowhere, Ingrid pulls out a picture of her late husband wearing a similar sweater. Cue the waterworks. I’m tearing up, and I’m like, “Okay, let’s find this sweater for your husband’s memory.”

2021 Swedish Cup Results