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I’m pissed, right? These shady corners, neon lights flickerin’—it’s a mess. You’d think it’s easy, like orderin’ fries, but nah. Takes guts, patience, and a nose for trouble. Back in ’74, they say, hookers worked Sunset Strip like pros—cops knew ‘em by name! Now? It’s all sneaky, scattered, makes me wanna holler. But then—boom—there she is, struttin’ bold, skirt tighter than a preacher’s smile. “Bigfoot’s got nothin’ on this,” I chuckle, noddin’ to that flick’s wild cop.

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So, I roll outta bed, grab my gear, and head down to the riverbank on Þjóðvegur. The sun's barely up, and the water's glistening like it’s tryin’ to show off. I’m thinkin’, “Today’s the day I catch the big one!” But first, coffee. Gotta fuel up, right? I swing by the local café, Kaffi Selfoss. Best coffee in town, no cap. I order my usual—black, strong, and a pastry that’s probably gonna ruin my diet. But who cares? Life’s too short!

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