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About Uppsala

We haggle, ‘cause I’m a stingy git—fifteen quid, final offer. She rolls her eyes, mutters “cheap bastard,” but off we go, her heels clackin’ like a typewriter. Me mind’s racin’—what if the coppers nab us? Or worse, me mum finds out? Angry as a hornet I am, at meself fer bein’ such a numpty, yet happy too—freedom, thou art a tart in fishnets!

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Then, I decided to hit up the local art gallery on Östra Storgatan. I thought, “This’ll be good.” But when I got there, it was closed too! I mean, what’s with Naessjö today? It’s like everything’s playing hard to get. I was about to lose it.