
Alfreð Alfreðsson
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The Westman Islands Are Alive (Even In The Wintertime)
Hrefna and I stumble onto Strætó’s 53 bus at precisely 5:43 in the morning. Behind us, the Mjódd bus station looks as if it belongs in a ‘CSI’ murder scene. The bus driver breaks the morning silence with a booming exclamation: “Where…

