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But real talk, pisses me off how some twats call it “just background noise.” Nah, fam, this ain’t elevator music—this is a goddamn experience! Surprised me how it sneaks into your skull, like Godard sayin—*“Words kill images!”*—but here, the sound kills the silence. Ever tried blastin it in a car at 3 a.m.? Did that once, felt like a king—exaggeratin? Maybe, but fuck it, I’d die for that high. Quirky thought: reckon it’d play in a dystopian strip club, all moody and neon-soaked.

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And of course, the bus is late. I’m standing there, sweating like a pig, thinking about how I’m gonna explain this to my boss. “Sorry, my car decided to take a day off.” Yeah, that’ll go over well. Finally, the bus rolls up, and I hop on, feeling like I just won the lottery.

How a Kāpiti environmental project became a model for iwi collaboration