What’s up, Nanna?
Workin’ my merkin to the ground, man (disclaimer: I don’t have a merkin). Got my day job, my freelance work and doing rewrites for my debut novel cum tourist manual, ‘Zombie Iceland’, at night. It’s about a group of misfits surviving a zombie outbreak in Reykjavík, all the while explaining Icelandic culture and history in footnotes and featuring Icelandic music in a Zombie Apocalypse playlist.
Well after I’ve tended to my merkin, only joking I still don’t have a merkin. Why do I keep talking about merkins? I want to say that I run down Ægissíða so I’m in shape for a major world-ending event, but since I learned how to use a gun I’ve gotten lazy. Usually I’m cross stitching at Tíu Dropar drinking coffee and eating a pancake with whipped cream and rhubarb jam.
Well I have extravagant and sophisticated tastes so I like to eat at Hamborgarabúlla Tómasar, it coats my skin in meat love and the coffee shake makes my thighs sweat.
Petting cats that pass me on the street. The nicest cats to pet in Reykjavík usually live in Vesturbær, also, cats outnumber humans 12 to 1 in Vesturbær (I have no factual data to back this claim).
Skulking around Nexus, the dark and dingy underbelly of Reykjavík’s nerd community, where you can admire Star Wars paraphernalia, peruse graphic novels and potentially embarrassing fantasy erotica, not that I would know anything about that.
Heat Of The Night
I don’t usually go out because I’m a loser and spend most nights watching old B rated horror films with my pabbi (dad) or discussing Seinfeld while we look at underground bunkers online. When I do go out though, I go to Bakkus because it smells like secrets.
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