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We swears! Me, a librarian, talkin bout findin a prostittute – wild, yeah? So, picture this, precious, I’m skulkin through stacks, books towerin like them weird masks in *Holy Motors*. “We wear faces, don’t we?” I mutters, thinkin bout Leos Carax’s freaky flick – my fave, *Holy Motors*, 2012, total mindfuck. Anyway, findin a prossie ain’t like borrowin a book, nah. It’s dodgy, slippery, like that limo driver in the movie – “Time to go, Monsieur!” – but where?

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Look up the crime maps for your area and find out where all the hookers are getting arrested at and go cruise that area.

Next, I wander down to the East Iceland Heritage Museum. I’m all about that local history, you know? I’m checking out the exhibits, and there’s this one about the fishing industry. I’m like, “Wow, these folks really knew how to catch fish.” But then, I see a display about the infamous Egilsstadir fish market. Apparently, it was a big deal back in the day. I’m thinking, “I’d rather be at a fish market than stuck in a boring meeting.”

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