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*Talk to Her* got that coma chick, right? “She’s alive inside,” they say. Prostitute’s like that—folks think she’s dead inside, nah, she’s dreamin’ big. I’m vibin’ with her hustle, makes me happy as hell. But the stigma? Trash. Pisses me off—why’s her choice dirtier than some suit stealin’ millions? World’s twisted, fam.

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Gardabaer Find a prostitute Iceland, Golden Shower (give) for extra charge, Deep Throat, Intimate massage, Deep Throat.

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!

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