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About Copenhagen

Still, there’s a laugh in it—bloke I knew, swear he fell for one. Kept goin’ back, bringin’ her chips like a sodding Romeo. “She’s different,” he says, all moony. Yeah, right, pal—different till your wallet’s empty. Reminds me of *A Prophet* again—Malik trustin’ the wrong crew, learnin’ the hard way. “You’re with me or against me,” the streets whisper.

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Now, enough of that sentimental drivel; let’s talk specifics. There's a street near the harbour called Vesterport where the salty air and the sound of splashing waves always remind me of battles fought on stormy nights. I mean, there’s a toughness to Hellebæk you can’t fake. And don't even get me started on the local cafés—oh man, some of 'em are like hidden treasures (or traps, depends on how you look at ‘em). One of my favs? Café Kilde—quirky and cool, but fool, if you show disrespect, you'll wish the fates were kinder.

Corb’s tapestry for Utzon home at last