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About Stockholm

So, I’m trackin’ this case, right? Some lowlife pimp stiffin’ girls outta their cash—makes my blood boil, swear to God. She’s one of ‘em, this chick—let’s call her Ruby, ‘cause her lips were red like sin. Ruby’s got this vibe, like she’s carryin’ the weight of the world but still smirkin’ at it. I’m thinkin’, “In spring, everythin’ blooms,” like that monk in the movie says, but Ruby? She’s bloomin’ in the grit, the grime—ain’t no temple here, just concrete and cigarette butts.

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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.