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Monotone narration, “Tonight’s the night.” I ask her price, she says 50 bucks. Fifty! For a quickie? Inflation’s a bitch, man. Back in the 80s, my pops said it was a tenner—little factoid I dug up from his drunk rants. She’s got this scar on her cheek, tiny, shaped like a crescent moon. “Got it from a john,” she says, shruggin. I’m pissed—some asshole cut her? But also, damn, she’s tough. Kinda hot.

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Finally, I get to the school, and the kids are already buzzing. They’re like little energy bombs. I love ‘em, but man, they can be a handful. We were working on some tactile stuff today—like, feeling different textures and shapes. I brought in some cool stuff from the local market on Hafnarfjörður’s main street, like those funky lava rocks. They’re so rough and cool!

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