Allison Gardabaer Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Hafnarfjordur

Great Scott! So, findin’ a prostitute, huh? Man, it’s wild out there—streets buzzin’, neon lights flashin’ like crazy. I’m thinkin’, what’s the deal with that? Back in my day, we didn’t have apps for this crap! You had to, like, *know* a guy. Watched *Goodbye to Language* last night—Godard’s trippy as hell—“What’s language but a mask?”—and I’m sittin’ there, sippin’ my espresso, thinkin’ prostitutes prolly got masks too, y’know? Hidin’ who they are, dodgin’ the fuzz.

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First off, I hit up the local café on Hringbraut. You know, the one with the killer lattes? Yeah, that one. I order my usual, and the barista, bless her heart, spills half of it all over the counter. I’m standing there like, “Great, just what I needed.” But then she gives me a free pastry to make up for it. I mean, who can stay mad when there’s a cinnamon roll involved? Not me, that’s for sure.

Around Iceland 2015: Garðabær