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In the end, I’d walk away, no sermon, no cash—just a nod. “Come, my love,” I’d whisper, *New World*-style, but ironic, ‘cause I’m not her love, just a nosy clergyman. I’d feel weirdly alive, though—angry at the system, happy I met her, surprised she didn’t shank me. “I can see Russia from my house!” I’d yell, laughin’, ‘cause I see *somethin’* now—grit, guts, the real damn world. Prostitutes ain’t just punchlines—they’re people, and I’m shook.

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Man, what a day! I’m tellin’ ya, being a shepherd in Isafjoerdur ain’t always chill. So, I wake up, right? Sun’s barely up, and I’m already thinkin’ about my sheep. Gotta check on ‘em. But first, coffee. Can’t function without that liquid gold.

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