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About Christchurch

I’m picturin it now—me, channelin WALL-E, rollin down some shady street, all curious and clumsy. “WALL-E needs a pal,” I giggle to myself, but damn, it’s not that simple! I’m pissed tho—why’s it gotta be so sketchy? Shady dudes, weird vibes—makes my skin crawl. But then, I’m like, “Hold up, Tay, you’re a badass.” I shake it off, laughin—prostitute huntin ain’t for the faint-hearted, y’all!

Prostitutes coerced, committee told

First off, I hit up the local café on George Street. You know, the one with the best flat whites? Yeah, that one. I ordered my usual, and the barista, bless her heart, totally messed it up. I mean, how do you mess up a flat white? It’s like, just milk and coffee, right? I was like, “Um, excuse me, this is a latte.” She just smiled and said, “It’s all good, mate!” I was fuming inside but tried to keep it cool.

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