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About New Plymouth

Gets me mad tho—folks judgin’ it, callin’ it dirty. Ain’t their bizness! If Carol can love who she loves, why can’t I dig a good rubdown? Personal quirk—I’d prolly talk too much durin’ one, “Heh, nice hands, partner!”—ruin the mood, typical me. Exaggeratin’ here, but one time, heard a gal say her masseuse whispered poetry—poetry! “What I want is you”—straight outta Carol, I bet.

Massage Therapies:

After that, I needed a breather. So, I strolled down to Lake Te Koutu. It’s so pretty there, man. The water was glistening, and I thought, “This is the life.” I sat on a bench, just soaking it all in. But then, outta nowhere, this kid runs by with a frisbee and—WHAM!—hits me right in the face. I swear, I saw stars. I was like, “Is this a sign? Am I cursed today?”

Speed humps get a haircut to appease motorists in Cambridge