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About Auckland

Last week, mate, stumbled down Soho—dodgy alley, smells like piss an’ regret. Saw this bird, legs fer days, leanin’ on a lamppost. “Wotcha, love?” she goes, smirkin’. Made me happy, her sass, like she owned the night. We swears! Took me back to them movie scenes—sweaty, close, real. “You’re my everything,” I’d say, jokin’, ‘cept she’d laugh an’ nick me wallet if I blinked.

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Finally, I get back to the shop, and I’m knee-deep in leather and laces. I’m cutting, stitching, and cursing under my breath. I’m so focused, I don’t even notice the time flying by. Before I know it, it’s dark outside. I look up, and the streetlights on Cook Street are flickering on.

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