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About Reykjavik

So, this one time, I heard a yarn—some geezer in Amsterdam’s red-light district paid double to just cry on a lass’s shoulder. No shaggin’, just blubberin’. Broke my heart, that did, coz what a waste! Coulda bought a pint instead. Gets me ragin’ too—why’s it always the lonely ones? Makes me wanna scream, “I choose violence,” at the world for bein’ so bloody unfair.

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I'm living it up in Gardabaer and find-a-prostitute is nifty! I need to taste your lips again. I indulge in Anal Sex (depends on the size) and Blowjob without.

Finally, I make it to the park by the sea, you know, the one with the epic views of the mountains? I plop down on a bench, drenched but happy. I pull out my sketchbook and start doodling. I’m lost in my world, and it feels amazing. Then, this old man sits next to me and starts chatting. He’s telling me stories about Gardabaer back in the day. I’m all ears! He’s got this twinkle in his eye, and I can’t help but smile.

From Iceland — Frogs Swarm Garðabær Garden