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About Reykjavik

But—here’s the kicker—heard this tale ‘bout her. Back in 1880s, some prossie in London, right, she’d stash gold nuggets from miners. Hid ‘em in her bloomers! Reckon this lass’d do the same—sneaky, she is. “The old man said, ‘You don’t get to pick.’” She don’t pick her punters neither—just takes what comes. Made me mad, tho—blokes treatin’ her like dirt. One sod spat at her, I near clocked him. “Call it, friendo,” I muttered, wantin’ to smash his mug.