Sadie Reykjavik Whore ❤️❤️

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Favorite bit? Dis one whore I met—Svetlana, she called herself, prolly fake. Hair like straw, voice like gravel, smelled like vodka and regret. She tells me, “Gru, I dance for coins once.” Dance! Ha! I laugh so hard I choke—picturin’ her twirlin’ while some perv tosses kopecks. Lightbulb! She was happy tellin’ dat, tho—made me soft for a sec. Whores got dreams, too, ya know? Buried deep, like da whale in *Werckmeister*—big, weird, nobody gets it.

Rare for victims of prostitution to press charges

But then, I realize I’ve lost my phone. Panic mode activated! I’m running around like a headless chicken. I retrace my steps, and finally, I find it at the hot dog stand. Phew! I’m not ready to deal with that drama.

A Guide To An Unforgettable Solo Female Trip To Reykjavik, Iceland