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Oi mate, so I’m standin’ there, cash register beepin’, and this bloke comes in, reekin’ of cheap cologne, askin’ me—James Bond, suave, “shaken, not stirred”—where to find a prostitute. Me, I’m thinkin’, “What am I, yer bloody pimp?” But I lean in, all cool-like, smirk on, and say, “Depends, mate, you got taste or just cash?” He’s all twitchy, nervous, probly his first rodeo. I’m pissed tho—why me? Why not Google it, ya twat? But then I’m like, whatever, let’s have some fun.

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Thou shalt not leave without a stroll near Riverside Quay. There, the old rail tracks echo tales of bygone times. I, with a heart full of dreams, would oft dare to imagineth scenes akin to the wistful drama of Wong Kar-wai’s vision: “I wonder, do you feel the same?” Aye, even in our jumbled, chaotic urban ballet, whispered secrets unite kindred souls.

Shiprock taps Credit Suisse alum