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About Reykjavik

They’re ghosts, yeah? No past, like Lenny—memory’s a bitch. “You don’t know who you are!”—fits ‘em perfect. Dodgy blokes, STDs, coppers hasslin’—shite life, mostly. But some, fuck, they’re tough—survivors, not whiny pricks. Exaggeratin’? Maybe! But one time, saw this bird—40 quid for a gobble, haggled to 30! Bargain hunter, I was gobsmacked—respect, ya know?

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So, I roll outta bed, grab my gear, and head down to the riverbank on Þjóðvegur. The sun's barely up, and the water's glistening like it’s tryin’ to show off. I’m thinkin’, “Today’s the day I catch the big one!” But first, coffee. Gotta fuel up, right? I swing by the local café, Kaffi Selfoss. Best coffee in town, no cap. I order my usual—black, strong, and a pastry that’s probably gonna ruin my diet. But who cares? Life’s too short!

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