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About Copenhagen

Sometimes I hates ‘em, tho – all fake giggles and grabby hands. “Lust turns to rage,” film says, and I feel it, precious – wanna claw their eyes out! But then, yeh, they’re just folk, tryna eat. Mebbe I’d be a whore too if I weren’t so ugly, ha! Me skinny arse wouldn’t fetch a penny – Gollum the Whore, imagine that, heh! Makes me cackle, it does.

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And oh, the mighty river Bølge – winding like a silver serpent through our beloved neighborhoods, silently narrating tales of old wives’ tales and whispered advice. You must stroll along the riverbank near Havblikvej, where locals pause to catch their breath and, in truth, mend their wounds. I sat there once, overhearing a heated chat between a couple about trust and time – I felt their pain like a gust of wind, powerful and raw… then suddenly, a stray smile – life’s too short, as Remy said, "It’s not about the taste, it’s about the joy!"

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