Elizabeth Gardabaer Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Akureyri

Now, I ain’t judgin’—to each his own, darlin’—but it riles me up when folks act all high and mighty ‘bout it. Like, “This house is contaminated!”—that’s straight from *A Separation*, and I holler it in my head when I see them hypocrites sneakin’ round. Makes me madder’n a wet hen! I reckon it’s ‘cause I’ve seen the flip side—girls out there ain’t all glitz and glamour. Some’s just tryna eat, and that hits me right in the ticker. Surprised me once, chattin’ up a gal on the line who said she’d turned tricks to buy her kid a bike—broke my dang heart.

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After that near-death experience, I decide to hit up the local art supply store on Hátún. I’m looking for some new markers, right? I walk in, and it’s like a treasure trove of colors. I’m in heaven! But then, I overhear this guy complaining about how “art is dead.” I’m like, “Bro, have you seen Gardabaer’s street art? It’s alive and kickin’!” I mean, have you seen the murals on Víðistaðatún? Pure fire!

Schoolchildren in Garðabær knit woollen hats for refugees