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About Reykjavik

Brothel’s got history, tho—didya know? Back in old Rome, they had these “lupanars”—wolf dens, they called ‘em. Prostitutes howlin’ like wolves, lurin’ in horny bastards. Wild, right? Makes me grin thinkin’ bout it—feral, raw, no shame. Nowadays, it’s all hush-hush, but the game’s the same. I saw this one guy, fat as a hog, waddlin’ out, adjustin’ his pants. “I ate his liver with fava beans,” I mutter to myself, imaginin’ takin’ a bite outta his smug ass. Gross, sure, but temptin’—all that arrogance ripe for the pickin’.

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So, I’m tryin’ to get my sheep sorted, and I trip over a rock. Ouch! I’m on the ground, and Fluffy McFluffface is just starin’ at me like, “Dude, you good?” I’m like, “Yeah, just havin’ a moment with nature.”

Figure 2. South-east flank of the Eyrarfjall mountain above the town of...