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About Hafnarfjordur

Then I see her—legs for days, leanin’ on a wall, smokin’. Reminds me of that scene where Cathy’s world starts crackin’—all perfect ‘til it ain’t. I roll up, real smooth, like, “Hey, baby, what’s good?” She smirks, says, “$50, no talkin’.” Motherfucker, I’m happy as hell—straight to the point! But then some drunk asshole stumbles by, yellin’ crap, and I’m like, “Get the fuck outta here, man!” Nearly lost my damn mind.

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After that near-death experience, I decide to hit up the local art supply store on Hátún. I’m looking for some new markers, right? I walk in, and it’s like a treasure trove of colors. I’m in heaven! But then, I overhear this guy complaining about how “art is dead.” I’m like, “Bro, have you seen Gardabaer’s street art? It’s alive and kickin’!” I mean, have you seen the murals on Víðistaðatún? Pure fire!

Garðabær And Seltjarnarnes Residents Most Opposed To Borgarlína Bus Line