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About Dunedin

Maniacal grin, “Here’s Johnny!” Alright, pal, lemme tell ya bout prostitutes—gritty, real, in yer face! Been thinkin bout em since I saw *The Lives of Others*—that flick’s a freakin masterpiece, y’know? “In the GDR, everythin was watched!”—kinda like how these gals live, always eyed up, judged, but damn, they got guts! Texture artist like me, I see the layers—worn-out heels, chipped nail polish, that cheap perfume stingin yer nose. Ain’t just skin deep, nah, it’s a whole freakin canvas!

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Next, I head over to the Motueka River. The view is stunning. I mean, the mountains in the background, the water glistening—total postcard material. I sit on a bench, trying to soak it all in. But then, this group of kids runs by, yelling and laughing. They’re playing some wild game that looks like tag but with a twist. I can’t help but smile. It’s infectious, you know?

From Motueka to Paris and double gold