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Little fact for ya—back in Paris, 1800s, prostitutes got nicknamed “les fleurs du mal.” Flowers of evil, poetic crap, right? Suits em tho—pretty but fucked. Ruby’d smirk at that, probly say, “I’m a weed, not a rose.” Loved her sass, man, cut through the gloom. Hannibal don’t usually care, but that? That stuck. “The heart bends and twists,” Varda said—Ruby’s did, every damn night.

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Grab my flat white, and boom! I’m ready to tackle the day. But then, I hear this ruckus outside. Turns out, some kids are racing their bikes down the street. I mean, c’mon, it’s not a racetrack! They’re zoomin’ past the Tokoroa Library like it’s the Indy 500. I’m like, “Hey! Watch out for the sheep!” But they just laugh and keep goin’. Kids these days, right?

Air quality in Tokoroa still one of nation's worst