Sofas that smell of smoke.

This is a city to fall in love with.

Sleeping all day and then walking out the door somewhere after four onto a dark and rainy street together with one of the most handsome men i've ever met, this is what i realised. The tiny, ugly, dirty houses with windows full of christmas decorations. All is very kitschy.

Reaching Kaffibarinn with my laptop; Örn is downstairs talking Apolloniare with some man and a thick smell of insence is in every corner of the place. "You're just to good to be True" is being played, in Icelandic of course, and the upper floor is empty.

See?