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About Gardabaer

Sometimes I wonder—would I escort? Ha! Me, prancin’ for coin? I’d be rubbish—too drunk, too loud. But them? They’ve got guts, swagger, like Jep dancin’ through Rome’s ruins. “Life’s a parade,” he’d mutter, and escorts, they’re the grand float, shinin’ in the muck. So, mate, next time ye see one, tip yer hat— they’re legends in their own right, savvy? Now, where’s me rum?

Adults Only

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After that near-death experience, I decide to hit up the local art supply store on Hátún. I’m looking for some new markers, right? I walk in, and it’s like a treasure trove of colors. I’m in heaven! But then, I overhear this guy complaining about how “art is dead.” I’m like, “Bro, have you seen Gardabaer’s street art? It’s alive and kickin’!” I mean, have you seen the murals on Víðistaðatún? Pure fire!

Fire fighters finally have control over Garðabær fire