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About Gothenburg

Oi, mateys, gather 'round, savvy? Me, Cap’n Jack Sparrow, been thinkin’ ‘bout somethin’ dark n’ twisted—like me mind after a rum binge. Findin’ a prostitute, aye? Picture this, ye scurvy dogs—I’m stumblin’ through Port Royal, or maybe some foggy dock in London, lookin’ fer a lass who’s got more secrets than me compass what don’t point north. “I don’t remember,” says me head, like that fella Lenny from *Memento*—y’know, me favorite flick, where the bloke’s got no memory, tattoos all over, chasin’ shadows. “Who am I?” he scribbles. Me? I’m chasin’ a skirt what trades love fer gold, savvy?

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Finally, I get my coffee, and I’m feeling a bit better. I stroll down to Sollentuna Centrum, thinking I’ll just browse some shops. But nooo, the universe had other plans. I walk in, and it’s like a freakin’ zoo in there. Kids running everywhere, parents yelling, and I’m just trying to navigate through the madness. I swear, I almost got taken out by a rogue shopping cart.

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