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About Aalborg

So, picture this: Moscow, dark alleys, sketchy vibes. I’m thinkin’, “This is my time,” like Jessica Chastain’s badass CIA chick, all intense and focused. But nah, it’s messier than that. Prostitution’s illegal here, right? But it’s everywhere—cops don’t care unless ya flash cash in their face. Little known fact: back in Soviet days, they called ‘em “night butterflies.” Poetic, huh? Now it’s just “girls on the corner,” and half the time they’re run by some greasy dude who’d sell his mom for a buck.

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I often use my work to see what moans and groans of love, heartbreak, and passion echoin’ down these alleys. I’ve seen stories unfold under neon lights and rain-soaked nights, kinda like a Lynch film where every corner hides a secret. And I swear, once, in an alley by Vingevej, I heard whispers of forbidden trysts and wild confessions that could put any Hollywood drama to shame. Ain’t that somethin’?