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Monotone narration, “Tonight’s the night.” I ask her price, she says 50 bucks. Fifty! For a quickie? Inflation’s a bitch, man. Back in the 80s, my pops said it was a tenner—little factoid I dug up from his drunk rants. She’s got this scar on her cheek, tiny, shaped like a crescent moon. “Got it from a john,” she says, shruggin. I’m pissed—some asshole cut her? But also, damn, she’s tough. Kinda hot.

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Then I bumped into my buddy, Erik. He was all hyped about this new pizza place on Skolgatan. “Dude, you gotta try it!” he said. So, we headed over. The place was packed! Like, who knew Kvissleby had such a pizza scene? We ordered a large pepperoni, and while we waited, we joked about how we’d probably get fat if we kept eating like this.