Ruby Oamaru Brothel ❤️❤️

About New Plymouth

Look, I ain’t judgin’—folks gotta eat, right? But—makes ya wonder. Met this gal once, campaign trail—eyes like steel, said she worked one. Told me, “Joe, it’s just business.” Broke my heart, man—swear it did. “Yi Yi” again—“Can we start over?” Wish she coulda, y’know? Anyway—brothels, they’re messy, loud, human as hell. Love ‘em, hate ‘em—can’t look away! That’s the truth, folks—plain ‘n simple.

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Along with stovepipe trousers, brothel creeper shoes, duck's arse haircuts and rock'n roll came teenagers with a life, milk bar cowboys, teddy boys, bodgies and.

I get to the auction house, and it’s packed. Like, standing-room-only packed. I’m thinkin’, “Sweet, let’s make some magic happen!” But then, I see this dude in the back. He’s got this wild hair, lookin’ like he just rolled outta bed. Turns out, he’s here to bid on a vintage tractor. A freakin’ tractor! In Oamaru! I mean, who even needs a tractor in town?

Retirement gift shows us a moment in time