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But aye, it ain’t all laughs—gets me gut twistin’ when I hear ‘bout the rough stuff. Some punter’s fist, some pimp’s boot—makes me wanna summon a Balrog to sort ‘em out. “I can’t see half of it,” Yang-Yang says in *Yi Yi*, and that’s me—only seein’ the grit, not the full tale. Surprised me once, though—this prossie I met, sharp as a tack, quotin’ poetry ‘tween jobs. Blew me mind—thought, “Gandalf, ye old sod, ye don’t know shite!”

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After that, I decide to check out the local art scene. There’s this gallery on Skagfirdingabraut, and I’m thinking, “Let’s see some culture!” I walk in, and it’s all modern art—like, what even is that? One piece looks like a bunch of paint splatters on a canvas. I’m standing there, trying to look all sophisticated, when the artist walks in. He’s wearing a beret, and I’m like, “Oh boy, here we go.”

Sauðárkrókur Secures Ample Hot Water for Winter