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We’re chattin’, and I’m thinkin’ *Boyhood* again—“It’s always right now,” y’know? This moment, her laugh, the cig smoke curlin’—it’s real, raw, fuckin’ alive. But then—bam!—some wanker in a beat-up Jag rolls up, yellin’ at her. Ex-pimp or some shit. I’m pissed, mate—nobody fucks with my night. I step in, all cool, “Oi, mate, piss off or I’ll rearrange ya.” He bolts, tires screechin’. She’s laughin’, says, “You’re mad, you are!” Happy as a pig in shit, me—saved the day, Bond-style.

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In the midst of this tumultuous environment, the secretary, now residing in her hometown, confronted an aggressive crowd. Find a prostitute Reykjanesbaer Ada.

After the food, we stroll around the Reykjanesbær harbor. It’s so peaceful, and I’m just soaking it all in. But then, I trip over a rock. Classic me, right? I’m laughing at myself, and Jón’s like, “You good?” I’m like, “Yeah, just testing the ground!”

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