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About Drammen

Anyway, I’m thinkin’—what’s the draw? Freedom? Danger? Gets me all tingly, like when Huppert’s clutchin’ that machete—wild stuff. “I’m not leaving this place,” she growls in the flick. Prostitutes got that grit too, y’know? Standin’ there, rain hittin’ ‘em, darin’ ya to judge. Surprised me once—this gal, sharp as hell, told me she paid her way through art school. Hustlin’! Who knew, right?

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After that chaos, I head to the café on Torget. Needed a breather, ya know? I order a cinnamon bun—best in Raufoss, no joke. I sit down, and this old guy starts chatting me up. He’s telling me about the history of Raufoss, how it used to be a big deal for the arms industry. I’m like, “Wow, that’s cool,” but inside I’m just thinking about that bun.

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