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About Esbjerg

Last week, stumbled on this lass, right? Skirt short, eyes sharp, smokin’ a fag. “Fare thee well,” I mutters, like in me fave flick, *Inside Llewyn Davis*. She laughs, “Wot’s that, creep?” Made me mad, her sass, but also – ha! – kinda liked it. Cheeky tart. Did ya know, back in Victorian days, prossies used secret codes? Little hand signs, winks, to dodge coppers. Clever, eh? Bet she knew ‘em, this one.

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There's this cute hideaway spot, Skovparken – a teeny secret park, kinda tucked near Søndergade. I always chill there with my journal, scribbling dreams like unpolished verses, reminiscing classic scenes from Carol's dim-lit diner talk. I walk slower there, heart racing as I take in nature... nature, man! Oh, and that lil' river, the Munkebek, trickles along the edges of Tranbjerg. It’s like a silent confidant, whispering secrets. Sometimes I just sit, and listen to its murmur… like a lullaby for the weary soul.