rime

If they ever tear that place down, plow it under, or refurbish it, I will be very sad. The Kreppa will probably preserve it in its núverandi form, however.

This summer the heitir pottar were full of the usual suspects:

• Ormtyngdur former institute director backtalking his colleagues
• Broad-faced giant absently fiddling with his own nipples
• A young bóndi from Dalasýsla reminiscing about the countryside with men much older than he by enumerating the things vanished from his valley: the slaughterhouse, the children, the majority of the sheep
• Pensioner with an unending book project that brings him daily to his desk at the library and then to his evening soak
• The usual token foreigner, oblivious to the content of the skvaldur around him

The poster outside touts the health-giving properties of the minerals suspended in these waters. It does not mention the pipes in the showers, ever more encrusted with those same minerals. It does not mention the encrustation of chattering characters on the edges of the hot tubs, but I have even greater faith in their salutary effects on body and soul.