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Lemme paint you a pic—imagine this chick I knew, let’s call her Jodie. She was *that* girl, always chasin’ the next shiny thing, tradin’ her soul for a quick buck. Made me so mad, y’all! I’d be like, “Jodie, why you whorin’ out your dreams for some loser’s dime?” She’d just laugh, flip her hair, and say she’s “livin’ her truth.” Girl, no! You’re livin’ a lie wrapped in cheap mascara! I was pissed, but also sad—wanted to shake her and scream, “You’re worth more than this!” Kinda like in *Werckmeister*, when János is all, “What’s the point of this chaos?”—I felt that, hardcore.

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After that, I decide to head into town. I stroll down Aðalstræti, the main street. It’s got that cute vibe, ya know? Little shops, cafes, and all that jazz. I pop into a bakery. Best decision ever! I grab a cinnamon roll that’s bigger than my head. Seriously, I’m not exaggerating.

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