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About Arbaer

Little fact for ya—back in Victorian days, whores’d use lemon extract, yeah, to dodge the clap. Clever, innit? Smellin’ like a pudding while dodgin’ death. “I’m trying to piece it all together,” like in *Her*, figurin’ out life’s mess. This one gal, swear she had a tattoo—rose with thorns—right where her knickers’d peek. Said it was her “armor.” Laughed my arse off—armor for a shag? Brilliant.

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So, we run back to the workshop, drenched but laughing. I get back to work, finally. I’m hammering away, lost in my thoughts. I think about how Akranes is such a cool place. The mountains, the sea, the vibe. It’s home, you know? But then, I hear a loud crash. My heart drops. I rush outside, and there’s a delivery truck that just backed into my workshop!

From Iceland — Search For Swimmer Underway Near Akranes