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About Roskilde

Angry? Yeah, ‘cause it’s a meat market—humans sold like bacon. Happy? Never, not with this crap. Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but I’d say it’s like tradin’ yer soul for a quickie. Quirky thought—wonder if they’d take my wood carvings as payment. Prolly not, damn shame. Lookin’ for one’s risky too—cops, STDs, or some psycho with a knife. “The dead don’t care,” Saul’d whisper—prolly true for the johns too. Funniest bit? Guys think they’re kings ‘til the clap hits. Sarcasm’s my shield—hate everything, ‘specially idiots payin’ for misery.

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A Roman ring of classic fashion form, executed in perfunctory detail for the prostitution market. Gilt bronze, under size 1 for the small finger between the first two joints as was the custom. .

Some days, I get hit with such a strong vibe – it’s like living in "The Master" (Paul Thomas Anderson, 2012). Deep, raw, often overwhelming. I sometimes whisper those lines to myself: “I must break you!” It’s my way of embracing every twist, every crack in this city’s facade with awsm passion.

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