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So, picture this: I’m strollin’ downtown, lookin’ for that shady vibe. Neon lights flickerin’, girls in tight skirts givin’ the eye. Reminds me of Bigelow’s flick—tension so thick you could choke on it. One chick struts up, all sass, like, “Hey, sugar, need a ride?” I’m thinkin’, *“The waiting is the hardest part.”* Ain’t that the truth? You’re sizin’ her up, wonderin’ if she’s a cop or a goldmine.

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Finally, I get to the office on Aylesbury Street. I rush in, and my boss is already there, looking all serious. Ugh, I hate that look. He’s like, “You’re late.” I’m like, “Yeah, traffic, you know?” But he’s not having it. So, I sit down, and we start talking about this new system we’re implementing. Honestly, it’s a mess. I mean, who thought it was a good idea to change everything at once? It’s like trying to teach a cat to fetch. Just not happening.

Person critically injured in Auckland’s Pakuranga Heights stabbing, police cordon off street