Samantha Selfoss Brothel ❤️❤️❤️❤️

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Alright, so brothel—man, what a freakin’ mess! I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’ bout it, and it’s like—why? Why’s this even a thing? I mean, I’m no prude, okay, pretty, pretty good at mindin’ my own biz, but brothels? They’re like the trash compactor scene in WALL-E, y’know, “Directive!”—all squished up, dirty, and you’re wonderin’ who’s runnin’ this dump! I saw this joint once, Nevada, legal spot—total shock, I’m tellin’ ya! Guys linin’ up like it’s a deli counter, “Gimme the special!”—and I’m over here, losin’ my mind, thinkin’, “What’s wrong with you schmucks?”

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After a while, I finally hook a fish! It’s a beauty, too. I’m all pumped, ready to show it off. But just as I’m about to reel it in, my phone buzzes. It’s my buddy, Jón. He’s like, “Dude, you gotta come to the market on Aðalstræti!” I’m thinkin’, “Really? I’m kinda busy here!” But then he mentions fresh fish tacos. I’m sold. I let the fish go—sorry, buddy!—and head over.

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