Layla Reykjavik Whore ❤️

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Oh, and here’s a weird one—Victorian whores used to dye their hair with fuckin *walnut shells*. How’s that for DIY? Stains everywhere, prolly smelled like ass, but they rocked it. Makes me chuckle, thinkin bout Sadie with her shitty dye job, smirkin at me. Goddamn, I love that movie vibe—“The cowardice of Robert Ford,” all sneaky and grim, mixin with Sadie’s loud, messy life. She’s no victim, tho—fuck that. She’s out there, takin what’s hers, and I’m just here ramblin bout it. Whores, man. They’re the real outlaws.

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The vast majority of prostitutes in the country are foreign. Police believe prostitution in Iceland is partially tied to organised crime and human trafficking.

Anyway, I shake it off and grab a coffee at a place called Kaffitár. Best coffee ever! I’m talking about that rich, dark goodness that makes you feel alive. I’m sipping, and suddenly, this guy walks in. He’s wearing a Viking helmet. No joke. I’m like, “Dude, it’s not a costume party.” But hey, it’s Reykjavik. Anything goes, right?

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