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About Gothenburg

Hehehe, why so serious, pal? Brothel, huh? Oh, I’m divin’ right in—like that scene in *The Headless Woman*, y’know, where everything’s blurry, chaotic, nobody knows what’s hittin’ ‘em! Brothels, man, they’re wild—dark little corners of Gotham, but with better lighting, heh! Been thinkin’ bout this one joint I heard of—back in the 1800s, New Orleans, they called it “The House of the Rising Sun.” Yeah, real deal, not just a song! Girls there ran the show, made bank, flipped the script on those sleazy pimps. Made me happy, y’know? Power where ya least expect it—kinda like me with a crowbar!

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First thing, I’m mixing up a batch of my famous kanelbullar. You know, those cinnamon rolls that make you wanna hug your grandma? Yeah, those. I’m all pumped, humming some ABBA, when suddenly, the fire alarm goes off! Like, seriously? I’m just trying to make some sweet magic here! Turns out, my oven decided to throw a tantrum. Great. Just great.

Prison Doors Left Open