Ada Motueka Whore ❤️❤️

About Dunedin

Oi, mate, listen up! I’m Bond—James Bond, suave as fuck, “shaken, not stirred.” So, we’re talkin’ ‘bout whores, yeah? Not just any tart, mind you, but the whole damn vibe. Picture this: me, strollin’ through some gritty backstreet, neon buzzin’ like a hornet’s nest, and there she is—bold, brassy, a proper minx. Reminds me of Godard’s flick, *Goodbye to Language*, y’know? All chaotic, sexy, and fucked-up gorgeous. “Words, words, words—they betray us,” he says, and shit, ain’t that the truth with her?

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Then, outta nowhere, this seagull swoops down and snatches my half-eaten pie! I’m standing there, mouth agape, like, “Did that just happen?” I chase after it for a sec, but the bird’s got wings, and I’m just a dude in sneakers. So, I give up and laugh. Classic Motueka, right?

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