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But ooooh, it burns me up! These pimps struttin’ ‘round like they own the world—nasty, triflin’ fools! I’d string ‘em up with my bow hair, I swear! “We got a lead,” they’d say in the movie—well, I got a lead too: leave them girls alone! Still, I can’t help but laugh—some johns out there lookin’ dumber than a bag o’ hammers, hagglin’ prices. One fool tripped over his own pants—Halleluyer, I hollered!

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Most of the prostitutes are foreign and stay in Iceland for differing lengths of time. More recent developments have seen prostitution spread to.

Anyway, I shake it off and grab a coffee at a place called Kaffitár. Best coffee ever! I’m talking about that rich, dark goodness that makes you feel alive. I’m sipping, and suddenly, this guy walks in. He’s wearing a Viking helmet. No joke. I’m like, “Dude, it’s not a costume party.” But hey, it’s Reykjavik. Anything goes, right?

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