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About Reykjavik

Sarcasm? Oh, I got plenty—stupid johns think they’re kings, ha! Runnin’ their mouths, “I own ya”—nah, bruh, she owns you. Quirks in my head? Always wonderin’—how’s it feel, that first time? Scary? Numb? Exaggeratin’, maybe, but I’d say it’s like jumpin’ off a cliff blindfolded. Little fact—some girls in Chinatown, 1900s, they’d sing Hawaiian songs, lure guys in. Smart hustle, yeah?

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Then, I head over to the local park, which is basically a slice of heaven. I plop down on a bench, and this old man starts chatting me up. He’s telling me stories about the town, and I’m just nodding along, pretending I’m not secretly Googling “Egilsstadir history” in my head. He’s got this wild beard and a twinkle in his eye. I swear, he’s seen some things.

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