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About Malmo

Oi mate, grab a pint, listen up! Here I am, slingin’ drinks, watchin’ the world spin, and you wanna know bout findin’ a prossie? Hah! Calm as a forest stream, I’ll narrate this like ol’ Dave Attenborough, yeah? Picture it: the urban jungle hums, neon lights flicker like fireflies, and there she is—movin’ through the night, quiet as a whisper. "The way of nature," I mutter, pullin’ a lager, thinkin’ bout *The Tree of Life*. That film, mate—sprawlin’, messy, beautiful, like life itself. "What is this love that loves us?" Malick’s voice echoes in me skull as I spot her leanin’ by the jukebox.

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After the meeting, I decide to grab a coffee at Kafé Magasinet. Best coffee in town, no cap. I’m standing in line, and this guy in front of me spills his drink everywhere. Like, dude, how do you even manage that? I’m trying not to laugh, but it’s hard. He turns around, and I’m like, “No worries, man. It happens.” But inside, I’m dying.

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