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About Wellington

She’s got this vibe, right? Smoky eyes, cheap perfume—fuckin’ hypnotic, innit? “I don’t trust nobody,” I mutter, like Lenny’d say, cos who knows what’s real? Could be a copper in disguise—seen that shit before! Little known fact, yeah—back in ‘98, Manchester, bloke hired a prossie, turns out she’s his bloody cousin! Laughed me arse off when I heard—world’s fucked, eh? Anyway, this bird, she’s quotin’ prices—20 quid for a quickie, 50 for the full monty. Bargain, I reckon, but I’m skint—pissed me right off! “We wants it, we needs it!” I hiss, cos I’m Gollum, see? Desperate, droolin’—fuckin’ tragic!

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An intermediate school pupil selling himself for sex and a boarding house allegedly playing host to hookers have the residents of a notorious prostitution hotspot in Auckland city pleading for.

Then, outta nowhere, this guy walks in with a parrot on his shoulder. I kid you not! The parrot was squawking like it owned the place. I couldn’t help but laugh. I mean, who brings a parrot to a café? Only in Otara, right?

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