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About Hafnarfjordur

So, findin a prossie—where do ya start? Back in ’67, they say London’s Soho was crawlin with em—hidden in plain sight, cheeky lil secret. Nowadays, it’s all hush-hush, online shit, or dodgy corners if ya know the spots. Me, I’m pissed off cos it ain’t simple no more—used to be a wink, a nod, done! Now it’s all “discreet” bollocks. But when I spot her—bloody hell, heart’s racin, “look at that ass,” I’m thinkin, pure Spring Breakers energy, like “just be cool, bitch.”

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But then, things take a turn. I’m walking down Hverfisgata, and I see this street performer. He’s juggling fire. Like, what?! I’m all for entertainment, but fire? In the middle of the street? I’m standing there, half impressed, half terrified. He drops a torch, and I’m like, “Dude, you’re gonna burn the city down!” But he just laughs it off. Icelanders are wild, man.

View From a Hotel Window, 5/23/24: Reykjavik