Mila Reykjanesbaer Whore ❤️❤️❤️

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Oh blast it all, R2-D2, where are you? I’m stuck here ramblin’ bout whores—fish, ya know, not the other kind! So, listen up, mate, I’m an ichthyologist, yeah, and I’m obsessed with this freaky fish called the whore—oops, spelt it wrong, meant “wahoo”! Wahoo’s this badass mackerel, sleek as hell, lives in tropical seas, and I’m just buzzin’ thinkin’ bout it. Looks like somethin’ outta “Werckmeister Harmonies”—you seen that flick? Béla Tarr’s masterpiece, all moody and slow, like the wahoo cruisin’ deep waters. “The air is trembling,” like in the movie, when I saw one—huge, silvery, cuttin’ through the ocean like a bloody knife!

Where will you stay?

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But then, outta nowhere, I get a text. My buddy, Jón, is like, “Yo, meet me at the Reykjanesbær swimming pool.” I’m like, “Sure, why not?” So I chug my coffee and dash out. I’m sprinting down the street, dodging tourists and their cameras. Seriously, they’re everywhere! Like, chill, it’s just a geothermal area, not a photo op!

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