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About Tauranga

So, I roll into this grubby lil’ town—think Bartertown vibes, but seedier. Dusty streets, shady types eyein’ me up, and I’m like, “Fools! I’ve faced Balrogs, I ain’t scared of you!” Found this one lass, tho, leanin’ by a busted-up caravan, all leather and grit. She’s got that “Witness me!” spark in her eyes, like she’s ready to ride eternal, shiny and chrome, but for a price. I’m thinkin’, bloody hell, this is mad—what a day, what a lovely day! She’s tough, mate, probs seen more shite than Max himself.

The Decline of Literate Thought

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First off, I hit up the local café, The Solway Grind. Best flat white in town, no cap. I’m sittin’ there, strummin’ my guitar, when this dude walks in. He’s got a mullet that could rival a rockstar’s. I’m thinkin’, “What’s this guy’s deal?” Turns out, he’s a busker too. We start talkin’ shop, and he’s all about playin’ on the corner of High St. I’m like, “Dude, I’m down!”

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