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Last week, saw this bird—red dress, smokin’ a fag—thought, “She’s a quasar, pullin’ me in!” Asked her rate, she smirked—£50, quick job. Bargained like a nutter, got it to £40—felt like I cracked gravity! But then—anger hit—bloke nearby yelled at her, “You’re filth!” Made me mad, mate—who’s he to judge? “They’re all hypocrites,” like Grace said, hidin’ their own dirt. Hypocrisy’s denser than a neutron star, swear it.

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Then, I decide to check out the Narvik War Museum. Man, that place hits hard. I’m walking through, reading about the battles and the history, and it’s just heavy. I mean, Narvik was a big deal during WWII. The stories of bravery and struggle? Wow. I get all emotional, and I’m like, “Why am I tearing up in a museum?” But it’s real, man.

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