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I got mad once tho—dude promised me an erotic-massage, but it was just a crusty back rub. I was like, “Boy, bye!” Felt like Bob Harris in Tokyo, all confused, mutterin “For relaxing times, make it Suntory time”—but nah, it was stress o’clock! Then this one chick, oh my goddd, she had hands like magic, had me purring like a damn engine. I was shook—happy as hell, like “Why don’t we do this every night?” Straight outta the movie, fam!

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I head out to the sheep pen on Hrafnseyri. Man, those little fluffballs are a handful. One of ‘em, I swear, thinks it’s a dog. Keeps tryin’ to follow me around. I name him Fluffy McFluffface. Classic, right?

Figure 2. South-east flank of the Eyrarfjall mountain above the town of...