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About Jonkoping

Anyhow, I’m wafflin’—she’s tappin’ her foot, I’m sweatin’ like a pig. “What’s it to be, blondie?” she snaps. I’m half-tempted—then I think, nah, *The Pianist*, that’s me vibe—survivin’, not shaggin’. “I must play, I must!”—Szpilman’s voice in me noggin. So I leg it—yep, scarper sharpish, leavin’ her gobsmacked. “Bloody toff!” she yells. I’m cacklin’—what a berk I am!

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Finally, we duck into a store on Skaraborgsvägen. It’s cozy, and I’m like, “Okay, let’s find you something that won’t get ruined by a little rain.” We find this killer jacket, and Max is all smiles. I’m like, “See? You can survive a rainstorm and still look fly!”

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