Megatropolis

Today I skulked along into town for some souvenir shopping. There is something weird about being set in a tourist area; all of a sudden you get a feral impulse to purchase purchase purchase! What, not everyone has a crappy item yet? Well, let me get them a face cloth from Rarotonga! The real problem is that if you buy something for one person you begin to get guilt for not buying a shitty item for everyone else. Then you get buyer’s remorse when you think that it will likely sit, unwanted, collecting dust. Still, didn’t seem to hinder anyone else in their fever of consumption so I joined the tadpole race of obese tourists clogging up the arterial routes of town. Didn’t find anything for myself thankfully, so the bomb of ephemera will scatter throughout Dunedin sparing my room.
As a special treat we attempted to source food in a local café, in a stroke of originality called The Café. We got so far as to have our frothy flat whites, but sadly the island lifestyle was to the detriment of our ordered food. The order was lost somewhere in between table and counter so, alas, it never made it. No doubt to wizened old surfey waiter had more important things to think about, like the bodacious waves and the tatas on some of the honeys in the café. Or perhaps the music just had him rocking out too hard – Straightjacket Fits and the Mockers? Too much, almost, even for me.