The shitty old tarmac gets slimy under the macrocarpas in winter. It skirts the Port then opens out into the cemetery overlooking Careys Bay, although the view is getting overgrown.
Kereru come down to drink the water pooling on the oldest graves, waddling across the turf on their stumpy cherry legs.
The walk down is extremely satisfying.
Closed closed fucking closed. Chinese wet (they mean wildlife trafficking/torture) markets slapped the hot chocolate right out of my hand and may yet fill my lungs with pus and kill my partner; I'm not alright with that. I'm not alright with bat delicacies and bullshit medicinal claims. But it could just have easily been pig concentration camps in the American South or some crap chicken farm in Auckland.
Quackery and cruelty got us here. Let's remember that.