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So, I swagger up, all charm, “What’s yer price, love?” She laughs—proper cackle—says, “More’n you got, trickster.” Cheeky! I’m half mad, half lovin’ it—nobody talks to *me* like that. Didja know, back in Victorian times, they called ‘em “soiled doves”? Fancy, eh? Makes it sound poetic, not dodgy. Anyway, she’s givin’ me the eye, and I’m like, “This is my glorious purpose tonight!”—bit dramatic, sure, but I’m Loki, I live for it.

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So, I’m chugging my coffee, trying to prep for my big presentation at the Media Park. You know, the place where all the TV magic happens? I was pumped. But then, I realized I left my notes at home. Classic me, right? I sprinted back, dodging cyclists on the Stationsweg. Those guys are like ninjas on wheels. One almost took me out. I swear, I need a helmet just to walk around this city.

Unique archival documents discovered from World War II