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About Sarpsborg

So, picture this—some tart, skirts hiked, lips red as sin, standin’ ‘neath a lamppost like a rose in a dungheap. She’s got guts, thou knowst, braver than most o’ ye lily-livered lot. I seen one once, down by the docks—Mary, they called her, tho’ reckon that weren’t her real name. Had a scar ‘cross her cheek, said a gent with a blade gave it her for “talkin’ back.” Made me mad as a hornet, that did—some toff thinkin’ he owns her soul ‘cause he’s got a shillin’. “Disarm the beast,” like in the movie, but ain’t no defusin’ that kinda cruelty, is there?

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First off, I’m a financial analyst, but today felt more like a rollercoaster. I grab my coffee from that cute little café on Langgata. You know the one? The barista always messes up my name. “Latte for ‘Mikayla’!” Ugh, it’s Mikayla, not Mikayla. Whatever, I’m not here for a spelling bee.

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