Lily Reykjanesbaer Whore ❤️

About Grindavik

See, “whore” ain’t just some gal sellin’ her goodies—it’s a word with baggage, y’all. Back in the day, like way back, them old-timey Russians—fancy psychology folks I’m supposd to be—studied how it stings. They said it’s a slap to the soul, a label that sticks like gum in your hair. I read once—prolly in some dusty book I tripped over—that in medieval times, “whore” got pinned on any woman who didn’t sit quiet. Ain’t that a hoot? Makes me wanna holler, “Well, bless their hearts, they’d hate me then!”

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Reykjanesbær is a stone’s drive from Leif Eiríksson Air Terminal and therefore close to home. Therefore, do not sleep anymore and escape the traffic on Reykjanesbraut by staying in the .

We finally head back down, and I’m starving. We hit up this food truck on Suðurgata. Best fish and chips ever! I’m devouring it, and it’s like a flavor explosion in my mouth. I’m in heaven. But then, I see a seagull eyeing my food. I’m like, “Not today, bird!” I swear, I’ve seen those things steal fries right outta people’s hands.

From Iceland — No Replacement For Deceased Drug Detection Dog