Allison Borgarnes Whore ❤️

About Arbaer

Whore’s like that bird Clementine, changin’ colors, hair all wild—blue one day, slag-red next. We hates it! Tricksy, false thing, promisin’ sweet nothin’s then—bam!—gone like smoke. Once knew this lass, right, proper whore, worked the docks near old London. Fishy stench clung to her like a curse—called her Fish-Whore, ha! Stank so bad, sailors paid extra just to shut ‘er up. Made me laugh, that did, ‘til she nicked me last coin—fumin’ mad, I was!

Local area

After the pool, we hit up the local fish market. I’m not even a seafood person, but the smell? It’s kinda intoxicating. I see this huge cod, and I’m like, “Yo, let’s get that!” So we buy it, and I’m feeling like a chef or something.

Locals in Borgarnes, W. Iceland fed up with travellers camping in parks, on preschool grounds