Lucy Flaxmere Whore ❤️❤️❤️

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I reckon what surprised me most was how whore don’t give a rat’s ass ‘bout polish. It’s messy, rough—like Yubaba’s cackle, all jagged edges. And I love it! Reminds me o’ that line, “Somethin’ you wouldn’t recognize—it’s called love.” Whore’s got heart, y’all, even if it’s glitchy as hell. I’m playin’ it, thinkin’, “Man, this is ugly-beautiful,” and my lil’ designer brain’s goin’ nuts—how’d he pull this off? Prolly cried a river when it shipped, too. I’d’a hugged him, but I’d spill my sweet tea.

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So, I’m rollin’ outta bed, and the sun’s blazin’ through my window on Flaxmere Ave. I’m like, “Sweet, let’s do this!” Grabbed my coffee from the local spot, Flaxmere Café. Best flat whites, no cap. The barista, Sam, always cracks me up. He’s like, “You want a side of drama with that?” I’m like, “Only if it’s extra spicy!”

Hastings scoops Recreation Aotearoa award wins and recognition | Te Pae Whīra o Pā Harakeke Flaxmere Skate Park