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Hmmm, a machine milking operator, I am! Findin’ a prostitute, you ask? Tricky, it is. Do or do not, there is no try—wise words, them are! Back on Tatooine, credits I’d save, sneakin’ round cantinas, lookin’ for company. Here, on this crazy Earth, wilder, it gets! Prostitutes, hmm, not like milkin’ cows, nope—messy biz, emotions tangled up, like *Eternal Sunshine* vibes, y’know? “How happy is the blameless vestal’s lot!”—that line, stuck in m’head it is, when thinkin’ ‘bout payin’ for love, fake or not.

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After that, I decide to check out the local art scene. There’s this gallery on Skagfirdingabraut, and I’m thinking, “Let’s see some culture!” I walk in, and it’s all modern art—like, what even is that? One piece looks like a bunch of paint splatters on a canvas. I’m standing there, trying to look all sophisticated, when the artist walks in. He’s wearing a beret, and I’m like, “Oh boy, here we go.”

Brim’s freezer trawler Viðey docks in Sauðárkrókur with 140 tonnes