The paradox of meaning.
This is your life on toast.
Picture shown indicative only.
Don’t look for the sense of a thing. Acceptance is your only path.
The guidebook says hostel, but the typeface screams gay bar.
Spit forth from the green-glass seas and grey froth of a sickly sky that beat down upon us for most of our journey, we lit upon the shores of a southern land, knowing not what to expect. In the harbor they met us, warmly, with doughnuts. Stale though they were, they were not without the qualities of welcoming.
Going for a premium.
It means something different here.
Birdmen of Owlcatraz.
I pledge allegiance.
Genuinely refreshing moments, lacking all technical slickness or knowing impatience: “Yes, yes, I know.” You’ve forgotten what it’s like to live in an unironic world and it sickens you. Kick yourself, you’re not in San Francisco anymore.
Mens & Ladies.
We can all agree the Kiwi accent takes getting used to, but I don’t think that’s how anyone pronounces Auckland.