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Man, lemme tell ya bout findin a prostitute, motherfucker! Shit’s wild out there, like somethin straight outta *A History of Violence*. You think it’s all easy, just strollin down some dark street, but nah, it’s a damn jungle! I’m talkin bout dodgin cops, sketchy pimps, and fake-ass chicks who’ll rob ya blind. Reminds me of Viggo in that flick—calm one sec, then BAM, chaos hits! “I’m through with hiding,” he says, and that’s me tryna scope a girl without lookin like a fuckin creep.

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But then, outta nowhere, it starts rainin’. Like, heavy rain. I’m soaked in seconds. I’m runnin’ for cover, and I duck into this little art gallery on Strandgata. It’s cozy, and the art is wild. I see a painting of a sheep. I’m like, “That’s my life!”

Figure 2. South-east flank of the Eyrarfjall mountain above the town of...