Wellington on a rainy day. A city of unreinforced masonry buildings and glass towers. Of glass verandahs cantilevered over unsuspecting footpaths. A city where black suited people glare at your chest not your face as they hurry past on important business, people grim and silent or talking only to people they know.
Wellington, where the waiter in the cafe thinks it’s funny that they sit above the faultline yet they don’t protect their staff from falling bottles. I asked. No blutac. No wire. Nothing.
Are you prepared Wellington? It doesn’t look much like it to me.