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About Mosfellsbaer

So, prostitutes—lordy, where do I start? I ain’t judgin’, honey, I’m just a big-haired gal who’s seen a thing or two. They’re out there, workin’ the streets, makin’ a livin’ how they can. Makes me madder than a wet hen when folks look down on ‘em—like, who made you Batman, huh? “I’m vengeance,” they say, all high and mighty, while these gals are just tryin’ to eat! Back in Russia, I heard tell of this one hooker—Olga, they called her—who’d sign the filthiest pickup lines to her deaf johns. Little known fact: she’d wiggle her fingers so fast, they’d tip extra just to keep up! Had me laughin’ harder than a hyena on moonshine.

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First off, I hit the streets of Egilsstadir, right? I’m talking about the main drag, Egilsstaðir Street. It’s like the heartbeat of this place. I’m strolling, coffee in hand, feeling all artsy and stuff. Then, bam! I trip over a rock. A rock! In a town full of beauty, I trip over a rock. Classic me, right?

Armed Man Wounded by East Iceland Police Last Night