Olivia Borgarnes Whore ❤️

About Hafnarfjordur

Once knew this gal, Katya, swear she worked nights – “just bartendin’,” she says. Bullshit! Saw her heels, red like devil’s arse, struttin’ past coppers who don’t care. Russia’s got ‘em everywhere, whores, I mean. Stats say 1 million, maybe more – who counts? Not me, I’m busy with death rates! But they’re there, smokin’ cheap cigs, laughin’ too loud. We hates it! Stinks of desperation, y’know?

How to Get to Borgarnes

I’m like, “Sure, why not?” So I chug my coffee and head over to the bridge. It’s this old, rickety thing over the Borgarfjörður fjord. The view? Stunning. But here’s the kicker: Jón’s late. Like, seriously late. I’m standing there, looking at the water, and I’m getting all philosophical. “What’s the meaning of life?” I’m thinking. Then I remember it’s just coffee and friends, right?

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