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About Uppsala

Oi, thou saucy knave, lend me thy ear! I’m a furrier, aye, but today I’m prattling ‘bout erotic-massage, that sweet, slippery beast! ‘Tis a dance of flesh, a balm for weary bones, ain’t it? Hands gliding o’er thee like a bard’s quill on parchment—ooh, gets me all tingly just thinkin’ it! Watched “The Act of Killing” again last night, thou knowest, my fave flick—those lads in it, they’d need a rubdown after all that grim strut. “I owe my life to massage,” one might’ve muttered, eh?

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Then, I head over to the market on Råsta Torg. Man, the smell of fresh bread and fish was insane! I’m tryin’ to grab some grub when this lady starts yellin’ about her lost cat. Like, lady, I get it, but I’m just tryna eat here! She’s runnin’ around, and I’m like, “Yo, your cat’s probably chillin’ under a car or somethin’.”

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