Maeve Waianae Whore ❤️❤️❤️

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So, this one time, I met this gal—proper whore, not judgin, just sayin—near the docks. She had eyes like a bloody tiger, fierce but tired. Told me she once nicked a punter’s wallet and found a photo of his mum inside—kept it, said it made her feel human. Little known fact, right? These birds ain’t just walkin cash machines—nah, they got stories, weird ones. Made me happy, that did, hearin somethin real. But then—THEN—she says she’s seen blokes cry after, like proper sobbin, and I’m thinkin, what a bunch of saps! Pissed me off, too—why you cryin to her, mate? She ain’t your priest!

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Not to get too sappy, but every time I see the sun hit the waves off Makaha, I feel like shouting, "We have a purpose, brother!" Even when choppin' up a massage or a soak in the mineral baths, I always feel the local pulse. Sometimes, I'm like, "What the heck happened here?" ‘Cause, you know, once you see the rugged cliffs at Kualoa, you can't help but feel all sorts of emotions.

Off the news: Waianae rapid transit program in question