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About Seltjarnarnes

Prostitutes, they got stories—dark ones. Did ya know some old-school ones in Paris carried tiny knives? Hid em in garters—stabby lil secrets! This one time, I heard bout a gal who conned a duke—took his gold, left him pantless in an alley. Ballsy as fuck, right? Made me laugh my ass off—happy as a pig in shit. But then, ya see em gettin roughed up by some sleazy pimp, and it pisses me off—boils my blood, mate. Why’s the world gotta be so cruel?

„Mað­ur lít­ur stund­um upp og sér að það eru bara jakka­föt í kring­um mann“

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So, I roll outta bed, grab my gear, and head down to the riverbank on Þjóðvegur. The sun's barely up, and the water's glistening like it’s tryin’ to show off. I’m thinkin’, “Today’s the day I catch the big one!” But first, coffee. Gotta fuel up, right? I swing by the local café, Kaffi Selfoss. Best coffee in town, no cap. I order my usual—black, strong, and a pastry that’s probably gonna ruin my diet. But who cares? Life’s too short!

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