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Now, lemme tell ya, findin’ a prostitute ain’t rocket science. You roll up, spot ‘em—heels high, skirts short, eyes sharp. They clock you ‘fore you clock them, real talk. But what pisses me off? These shady pimps, man. Lurkin’ in the shadows, takin’ cuts, treatin’ ‘em like property. Makes my blood boil, fo’ shizzle. Ain’t nobody deserve that. Reminds me of them priests in *Spotlight*—power trippin’, fuckin’ up lives. “This is bigger than us,” they said in the movie, and damn, it fits here too.

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Then, I decide to check out the Harpa Concert Hall. It’s all glass and angles, super modern. I’m feeling artsy, you know? But then, I see a group of tourists trying to take a selfie. They’re all crammed together, and one dude’s got his arm around a random stranger. I’m dying laughing. Like, bro, that’s not how it works!

The Reykjavík Index for Leadership