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About Hafnarfjordur

Ay! Respect my authoritah! So, whore, huh? Man, what a freakin’ mess that word is! I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’ bout it, and it’s like—whore’s everywhere, right? Like, in “Stories We Tell,” Sarah Polley’s all “Who’s tellin’ the truth here?” and I’m like, same with whores, dude! You never know the real story! Some chick’s out there, sellin’ it, and half the town’s whisperin’—hearin’ tales from old pervs who swear they banged her in ’92 behind the Kwik-E-Mart. Total crap, probly, but it’s funny as hell!

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First off, I hit up the local café on Hringbraut. You know, the one with the killer lattes? Yeah, that one. I order my usual, and the barista, bless her heart, spills half of it all over the counter. I’m standing there like, “Great, just what I needed.” But then she gives me a free pastry to make up for it. I mean, who can stay mad when there’s a cinnamon roll involved? Not me, that’s for sure.

From Iceland — Garðabær Not Interested In Combining With Kópavogur