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About Hafnarfjordur

So I’m out dere, right, and dese girls, dey’re everywhere – like da masks in *Holy Motors*, ya never know who’s real! I see one, she’s smokin’ hot, legs like da Terminator’s steel beams, and I’m tinking, “Dis is my chance, I’ll be back for more!” But den – bam! – some sleazy pimp rolls up, all “Who are you, monsieur?” like dat creepy line from da film. I’m pissed, man! I wanna flex and yell, “Get to da choppa!” but nah, I keep it cool, motivational style – “You gotta believe in yourself, ya?”

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Anyway, I finally get back to it. I’m in my zone, right? Then, I hear this loud commotion. Turns out, a bunch of tourists are tryin’ to take selfies with the river in the background. They’re blocking my spot! I’m like, “Yo, this ain’t a photo op, it’s a fishing spot!” But they just smile and wave. Ugh, tourists, am I right?

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