Anna Selfoss Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

About Reykjavik

Me fave’s this one bird—Candy, real name prolly Susan. Chain-smoked, swore like a sailor, had a tattoo of a rose bleedin’. Told me, “James, I’m the party that never ends,” winkin’ like she knew I’d shag her for free. Cheeky cow—loved her guts. Reminded me of Jep Gambardella, chasin’ beauty in the muck. “The only thing left is to cry,” she’d laugh, then nick me cigs.

Er raun­veru­leik­inn meira hroll­vekj­andi en Black Mirr­or?

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After stuffing my face, I decide to stroll around. I hit up the local shops on Hringbraut. There’s this quirky little place that sells all sorts of fishing gear. I’m browsing, and I spot this ridiculous hat. It’s bright orange with a giant fish on it. I can’t resist. I buy it, and now I’m the proud owner of the most absurd fishing hat in Selfoss. I’m rockin’ it, though!

Philipp Schott — ‘Fifty-Four Pigs: A Dr. Peter Bannerman Vet Mystery’