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About New Plymouth

I’m pissed, too—why’s this so complicated? Apps, streets, whatever—pick one! I’m rantin’ in my head, “This is bullsh*t! Gimme a manual!” Then I laugh—‘cause it’s absurd, right? Me, hirin’ a prostitue, like I’m castin’ a movie. “You’re hired! Action!” Pretty, pretty good disaster waitin’ to happen. Oh, and get this—back in the day, some gals used coded ads in papers! “French lessons”—yeah, right! I’m dyin’ over here, imaginin’ me answerin’ that. “Can ya conjugate ‘regret’?”

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First off, I hit up High St for brekkie. You know, the usual—coffee and a pie. I swear, the pies here are like little pockets of heaven. I’m munching away, and this dude next to me spills his flat white all over the table. Like, bro, chill! It’s just coffee, not a crime scene. But hey, I laugh it off. Gotta love the chaos of a small town, right?

The making of Murdereka: play creates mixed emotions