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About Tauranga

So yeah, findin’ a prostitute? Easy, sorta—look in the cracks, alleys, dive spots. Pissed me off, tho—society’s fucked, lettin’ this be normal! Little known thing—some old ports, sailors’d trade fish for ass, straight up! Hilarious, yet grim—fish or credits, same diff. “Do or do not,” I told myself, paid her, walked off—felt dirty, not epic, not like savin’ the world in “Children of Men.” Just another night, butchered hope, sliced dreams—fuck it, I’m out!

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A walk into the Hooker glacier at Mt Cook to see the ranunculars which were quite sparse this year must have been the dumping of snow.

Finally, I make my way back home, and I’m just exhausted. But as I’m walking down Flaxmere Ave again, I see the sunset. It’s like the sky’s on fire—pink, orange, all the good stuff. I stop and just take it in. I’m like, “Damn, Flaxmere, you know how to end a day.”

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