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About Christchurch

I seen escort gig once, back in Moscow-ish, cold as hell, teeth chatterin’. This dude, big coat, scar on face—looked like villain, ya? But he’s escortin’ some fancy lady, all hush-hush. Turns out, she’s smuggling rare caviar under skirt! Caviar! I laughed my ass off—imagine fish eggs savin’ day! “We’re not there yet,” like Theo says, but damn, that’s slick escort move.

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Anyway, I finally wrangle them back. I’m sweating like a pig, and it’s not even 8 AM. I head over to the local dairy on the corner of Rosedale Rd and Wairau Rd. Grab a pie, ‘cause, you know, a shepherd’s gotta eat. The lady behind the counter, bless her heart, says, “You look like you’ve been through the wringer!” I laugh, but inside, I’m like, “You have no idea, lady.”

Fatal traffic crash, Rosedale