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About Grindavik

What pisses me off? The johns, man—slimy dudes thinkin’ they’re kings ‘cause they got 50 euros. Makes me wanna smash my Les Paul over their heads. But then—happy vibes—she’s out there, hustlin’, free as fuck, no 9-to-5 grind. Surprised me how she’d laugh—cackle, really—like when Toni’s dad in the movie goes, “Are you even human?” She’s human, alright, more than most. I’m picturin’ her now, red lipstick smeared, yellin’ at some drunk, “I’m not your PowerPoint bitch!”—and I’m dyin’, it’s too good.

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But then, outta nowhere, it starts rainin’. Like, heavy rain. I’m soaked in seconds. I’m runnin’ for cover, and I duck into this little art gallery on Strandgata. It’s cozy, and the art is wild. I see a painting of a sheep. I’m like, “That’s my life!”

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