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Here’s a story—heard this from a buddy. Some hooker in Vegas, right? She’s got a frickin’ *schedule*—8 PM, 9 PM, boom, like SpaceX launches. Precision! Guy shows up late, she’s like, “Time’s thrust, dude, pay up or bounce.” Cracked me up—ruthless, like me with a late lumber delivery. Reminds me of *Ten* again—“Life goes on, doesn’t it?”—she says, cold as steel. Love that grit! Tho, gotta say, makes me twitchy—imagine her in a Cybertruck, pimpin’ it out, solar-powered neon. Overkill? Hell yeah, but dope af.

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After the pool, we hit up the local fish market. I’m not even a seafood person, but the smell? It’s kinda intoxicating. I see this huge cod, and I’m like, “Yo, let’s get that!” So we buy it, and I’m feeling like a chef or something.

Locals in Borgarnes, W. Iceland fed up with travellers camping in parks, on preschool grounds