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About New Plymouth

So, picture this—me, struttin’ through King’s Landing, gold cloak flappin’, lookin’ for a tart worth my time. Not these pox-ridden slags by the docks, stinkin’ of fish and despair. No, I need one with a *concierge* vibe, y’know? Like Monsieur Gustave, all “Lobby Boy!” smooth-talkin’, but she’s got tricks up her skirt. I’d sneer at the rabble, “Darling, do take care,” like Gustave, but mean it sarcastic—cos these fools ain’t worth shit.

Springlands Police Station

First off, I head down to my shop on Wairakei Road. It’s a cozy little place, you know? Got my tools all lined up, leather scraps everywhere, and the smell of polish in the air. I love it. But then, boom! My mate, Dave, strolls in. He’s all like, “Bro, you gotta help me out!” Turns out, he’s got a wedding to go to, and his shoes? Total wreck. I mean, c’mon, who lets their shoes get that bad?

Nongfu Spring lands in deep water as price war intensifies