Zara Reykjanesbaer Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Mosfellsbaer

But it’s tricky, precious, so tricky! Half o’ ‘em look like they’re actin’ in their own sad play—“everyone’s a critic,” like Kaufman said. I’m thinkin’, shit, am I the audience or the bloody fool here? Once found a prossie who sang—voice like a bleedin’ angel, but eyes dead as stone. Broke me heart, that. Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but I’d claw the moon down fer her, I would! Still, most times it’s just hagglin’—ten quid, twenty, whatever scraps I got. “The play’s the thing,” I hiss, cos it’s all a game, innit?

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We finally head back down, and I’m starving. We hit up this food truck on Suðurgata. Best fish and chips ever! I’m devouring it, and it’s like a flavor explosion in my mouth. I’m in heaven. But then, I see a seagull eyeing my food. I’m like, “Not today, bird!” I swear, I’ve seen those things steal fries right outta people’s hands.

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