Natalie Reykjavik Whore ❤️

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Dunno, precious, it’s messy, wild—like me, heh! We swears! You hear it, you feel it—no prissy polished crap here. “Whore” ain’t just a song—it’s a middle finger to everythin’ fake. Like Anatolia’s end, “The truth is out there,” but you gotta dig for it. Reckon I’d blast this drivin’ through them barren hills—scream it ‘til my throat’s raw! What d’ya reckon, eh? Madness, innit?

From Iceland — I'm Not A Slut; I'm A Whore

Next, I’m wandering around Tjörnin, the lake in the middle of the city. It’s so pretty, with ducks and swans just chillin’. I sit on a bench, and this old man starts feeding the birds. I’m thinking, “Man, I wanna be that chill when I’m old.” But then, the ducks start fighting over the bread. It’s like a scene from a nature documentary. I’m cracking up, and the old man gives me a look like I’m the crazy one.

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