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Oh blast, here I go—panicked, “R2-D2, where are you?”—talkin bout prostitutes now! So, look, I’m a Forester, right, an I seen some wild stuff, but prostitutes? They’re like the unsung heroes of the streets, mate. Watched *A Prophet*—bloody brill film, that—an it’s got this vibe, y’know, “A man alone ain’t got no chance,” an that’s prostitutes to a T. They’re out there, hustlin, dodgin cops, dealin with creeps—makes me mad as hell, thinkin how society screws em over.

Er raun­veru­leik­inn meira hroll­vekj­andi en Black Mirr­or?

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Anyway, I finally get back to it. I’m in my zone, right? Then, I hear this loud commotion. Turns out, a bunch of tourists are tryin’ to take selfies with the river in the background. They’re blocking my spot! I’m like, “Yo, this ain’t a photo op, it’s a fishing spot!” But they just smile and wave. Ugh, tourists, am I right?

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