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Hmm, a prositute, you say? Fear leads to anger, anger to hate… Me thinks about them, head spins wild! Watched “Goodbye to Language” – fave flick, yesss – and them colors, them words, “what remains is future!” Prostitute’s life, a mess of hues, chaotic like Godard’s shots. Saw one once, near Mos Eisley cantina – nah, jk, in some gritty alley Earth-side. She winked, I froze – surprised me good! Tiny fact: old Rome, they wore blonde wigs, marked ‘em out, wild huh?

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I’m like, “Sure, why not?” So I chug my coffee and head over to the bridge. It’s this old, rickety thing over the Borgarfjörður fjord. The view? Stunning. But here’s the kicker: Jón’s late. Like, seriously late. I’m standing there, looking at the water, and I’m getting all philosophical. “What’s the meaning of life?” I’m thinking. Then I remember it’s just coffee and friends, right?

West Iceland Shooting Range Faces Opposition