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I get pissed thinkin’ bout it sometimes—girls stuck there, no way out, like Mia’s mom screamin’, “You’re nothing, you’re nothing!”—but then, some of ‘em, they’re runnin’ the show! Heard this story ‘bout a madam in Amsterdam, ran her spot like a queen, had politicians by the balls—literally! She’d strut in, all “Look at me, I’m alive!”—straight outta *Fish Tank*, that energy. Surprised me, honestly, ‘cause I figured it’s all sad vibes, but nah, power flips fast in those places.

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Rauða Skáldahúsið, or The Poetry Brothel Reykjavik, is a fully bilingual poetry cabaret that transforms Iðnó into a living performance. A collaboration among Meg Matich, the production .

Anyway, I shake it off and grab a coffee at a place called Kaffitár. Best coffee ever! I’m talking about that rich, dark goodness that makes you feel alive. I’m sipping, and suddenly, this guy walks in. He’s wearing a Viking helmet. No joke. I’m like, “Dude, it’s not a costume party.” But hey, it’s Reykjavik. Anything goes, right?

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